i>. 


The  Girl  from  the  Marsh  Cmft 


BOOKS    BY 

SELMA    LAGERLOF 

The  Story  of  Gosta  Berling 

The  Miracles  of  Antichrist 

Invisible  Links 

The   Girl  from   the   Marsh 
Croft 

The  Wonderful  Adventures 
of  Nils 

Christ  Legends 


TheGirl 
From  the  Marsh  Croft 


By  Selma  Lagerlof 

Author  of  "The  Story  of  Gosta  Berling,"  "The 
Miracles  of  Antichrist,"  "Invisible  Links,"  etc. 


Translated  from  the  Swedish. 
By  Velma  Swanston  Howard 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1910 


pT 


GS 


Copyright,  igio, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 

A II  rights  reserved 
Published  May,  1910 


THE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.  S.   A. 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

Readers  of  Miss  Lagerlof  will  observe  that  in 
this,  her  latest  book,  "  The  Girl  from  the  Marsh 
Croft,"  the  Swedish  author  has  abandoned  her 
former  world  of  Romanticism  and  has  entered 
the  field  of  Naturalism  and  Realism. 

This  writer's  romantic  style  is  most  marked, 
perhaps,  in  her  first  successful  work,  "  Gosta 
BerHng." 

How  "The  Story  of  Gosta  Berling"  grew, 
and  the  years  required  to  perfect  it,  is  told 
in  the  author's  unique  literary  autobiography, 
"  The  Story  of  a  Story,"  which  is  embodied  in 
the  present  volume. 

In  "The  Girl  from  the  Marsh  Croft"  Miss 
Lagerlof  has  courageously  chosen  a  girl  who 
had  gone  astray  as  the  heroine  of  her  love  story, 
making  her  innate  honesty  and  goodness  the 
redemptive  quahties  which  win  for  her  the  love 
of  an  honest  man  and  the  respect  and  esteem 
of  all. 


vi  PREFACE  ^ 

To  the  kindness  of  the  publishers  of  Good 
Housekeeping,  I  am  indebted  for  permission  to 
include  "  The  Legend  of  the  Christmas  Rose  " 
in  this  volume. 

This  book  is  translated  and  published  with 
the  sanction  of  the  author,  Selma  Lagerlof. 


CONTENTS 

PAOE 

I.     TiiE  Girl  from  the  Marsh  Croft  3 

II.     The  Silver  Mine 99 

III.    The  Airship 125 

rv.     The  Wedding  March 163 

V.    The  Musician 173 

VI.     The  Legend  of  the  Christmas  Rose  189 

VII.     A  Story  from  Jerusalem 219 

VIII.     Why  the  Pope  Lived  to  be  so  Old  .  235 

IX.    The  Story  of  a  Story 257 


The  Girl  from  the  Marsh  Croft 


The  Girl  from  the 
Marsh  Croft 


I 


It  took  place  in  the  court  room  of  a  rural  dis- 
trict. At  the  head  of  the  Judges'  table  sits  an 
old  Judge  —  a  tall  and  massively  built  man, 
with  a  broad,  rough-hewn  visage.  For  several 
hours  he  has  been  engaged  in  deciding  one  case 
after  another,  and  finally  something  Uke  dis- 
gust and  melancholy  has  taken  hold  of  him. 
It  is  difficult  to  know  if  it  is  the  heat  and  close- 
ness of  the  court  room  that  are  torturing  him  or 
if  he  has  become  low-spirited  from  handling  all 
these  petty  wrangles,  which  seem  to  spring 
from  no  other  cause  than  to  bear  witness  to 
people's  quarrel-mania,  uncharitableness,  and 
greed. 

He  has  Just  begun  on  one  of  the  last  cases  to 
be  tried  during  the  day.  It  concerns  a  plea  for 
help  in  the  rearing  of  a  child. 

This  case  had  already  been  tried  at  the  last 
Court  Session,  and  the  protocols  of  the  former 
suit  are  being  read;    therefore  one  learns  that 


4     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

the  plaintiff  is  a  poor  fanner's  daughter  and  the 
defendant  is  a  married  man. 

Moreover,  it  says  in  the  protocol,  the  defend- 
ant maintains  that  the  plaintiff  has  wrongfully, 
unjustly,  and  only  with  the  desire  of  profiting 
thereby,  sued  the  defendant.  He  admits  that 
at  one  time  the  plaintiff  had  been  employed  in 
his  household,  but  that  during  her  stay  in  his 
home  he  had  not  carried  on  any  intrigue  with 
her,  and  she  has  no  right  to  demand  assistance 
from  him.  The  plaintiff  still  holds  firmly  to  her 
claim,  and  after  a  few  witnesses  have  been  heard, 
the  defendant  is  called  to  take  the  oath  and 
show  cause  why  he  should  not  be  sentenced  by 
the  Court  to  assist  the  plaintiff. 

Both  parties  have  come  up  and  are  standing, 
side  by  side,  before  the  Judges'  table.  The 
plaintiff  is  very  young  and  looks  frightened  to 
death.  She  is  weeping  from  shyness  and  with 
difl&culty  wipes  away  the  tears  with  a  crumpled 
handkerchief,  which  she  doesn't  seem  to  know 
how  to  open  out.  She  wears  black  clothes, 
which  are  quite  new  and  whole,  but  they  fit  so 
badly  that  one  is  tempted  to  think  she  has  bor- 
rowed them  in  order  to  appear  before  the  Court 
of  Justice  in  a  befitting  manner. 

As  regards  the  defendant,  one  sees  at  a  glance 
that  he  is  a  prosperous  man.     He  is  about 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     5 

forty  and  has  a  bold  and  dashing  appearance. 
As  he  stands  before  the  Court,  he  has  a  very 
good  bearing.  One  can  see  that  he  docs  not 
think  it  a  pleasure  to  stand  there,  but  he  does  n't 
appear  to  be  the  least  concerned  about  it. 

As  soon  as  the  protocols  have  been  read,  the 
Judge  turns  to  the  defendant  and  asks  him  if 
he  holds  fast  to  his  denials  and  if  he  is  prepared 
to  take  the  oath. 

To  these  questions  the  defendant  promptly 
answers  a  curt  yes.  He  digs  down  in  his  vest 
pocket  and  takes  out  a  statement  from  the 
clergyman  who  attests  that  he  understands  the 
meaning  and  import  of  the  oath  and  is  qualified 
to  take  it. 

All  through  this  the  plaintiff  has  been  weeping. 
She  appears  to  be  unconquerably  bashful,  and 
doggedly  keeps  her  eyes  fijied  upon  the  floor. 
Thus  far  she  has  not  raised  her  eyes  sufficiently 
to  look  the  defendant  in  the  face. 

As  he  utters  his  "  yes,"  she  starts  back.  She 
moves  a  step  or  two  nearer  the  Court,  as  if  she 
had  something  to  say  to  the  contrary,  and  then 
she  stands  there  perplexed.  It  is  hardly  pos- 
sible, she  seems  to  say  to  herself;  he  cannot  have 
answered  yes.    I  have  heard  wrongly. 

Meanwhile  the  Judge  takes  the  clergyman's 
paper  and  motions  to  the  court  officer.     The 


6     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT ^ 

latter  goes  up  to  the  table  to  find  the  Bible, 
which  hes  hidden  under  a  pile  of  records,  and 
lays  it  down  in  front  of  the  defendant. 

The  plaintiff  hears  that  some  one  is  walking 
past  her  and  becomes  restless.  She  forces  her- 
self to  raise  her  eyes  just  enough  to  cast  a  glance 
over  the  table,  and  she  sees  then  how  the  court 
officer  moves  the  Bible. 

Again  it  appears  as  though  she  wished  to 
raise  some  objection,  and  again  she  controls 
herself.  It  is  n't  possible  that  he  will  be  allowed 
to  take  the  oath.  Surely  the  Judge  must  pre- 
vent him! 

The  Judge  is  a  wise  man  and  knows  how 
people  in  her  home  district  think  and  feel.  He 
knew,  very  likely,  how  severe  all  people  were  as 
soon  as  there  was  anything  which  affected  the 
marriage  relation.  They  knew  of  no  worse  sin 
than  the  one  she  had  committed.  Would  she 
ever  have  confessed  anything  hke  this  about 
herself  if  it  were  not  true?  The  Judge  must 
understand  the  awful  contempt  that  she  had 
brought  down  upon  herself,  and  not  contempt 
only,  but  all  sorts  of  misery.  No  one  wanted  her 
in  service  —  no  one  wanted  her  work.  Her  own 
parents  could  scarcely  tolerate  her  presence  in 
their  cabin  and  talked  all  the  while  of  casting 
her  out.     Oh,  the  Judge  must  know  that  she 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     7 

would  never  have  asked  for  help  from  a  married 
man  had  she  no  right  to  it. 

Surely  the  Judge  could  not  believe  that  she 
lied  in  a  case  like  this;  that  she  would  have 
called  down  upon  herself  such  a  terrible  mis- 
fortune if  she  had  had  any  one  else  to  accuse  than 
a  married  man.  And  if  he  knows  this,  he  must 
stop  the  oath-taking. 

She  sees  that  the  Judge  reads  through  the 
clergyman's  statements  a  couple  of  times  and 
she  begins  to  think  he  intends  to  interfere. 

True,  the  Judge  has  a  wary  look.  Now  he 
shifts  his  glance  to  the  plaintiff,  and  with  that 
his  weariness  and  disgust  become  even  more 
marked.  It  appears  as  though  he  were  un- 
favorably disposed  toward  her.  Even  if  the 
plaintiff  is  telling  the  truth,  she  is  nevertheless 
a  bad  woman  and  the  Judge  cannot  feel  any 
sympathy  for  her. 

Sometimes  the  Judge  interposes  in  a  case, 
like  a  good  and  wise  counsellor,  and  keeps  the 
parties  from  ruining  themselves  entirely.  But 
to-day  he  is  tired  and  cross  and  thinks  only  of 
letting  the  legal  process  have  its  course. 

He  lays  down  the  clergyman's  recommenda- 
tion and  says  a  few  words  to  the  defendant  to 
the  effect  that  he  hopes  he  has  carefully  con- 
sidered the  consequences  of  a  perjured  oath. 


8     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

The  defendant  listens  to  him  with  the  calm  air 
which  he  has  shown  all  the  while,  and  he  answers 
respectfully  and  not  without  dignity. 

The  plaintiff  listens  to  this  in  extreme  terror 
She  makes  a  few  vehement  protests  and  wrings 
her  hands.  Now  she  wants  to  speak  to  the 
Court.  She  struggles  frightfully  with  her  shy- 
ness and  with  the  sobs  which  prevent  her  speak- 
ing. The  result  is  that  she  cannot  get  out  an 
audible  word. 

Then  the  oath  will  be  taken!  She  must  give 
it  up.  No  one  will  prevent  him  from  swearing 
away  his  soul. 

Until  now,  she  could  not  believe  this  possible. 
But  now  she  is  seized  with  the  certainty  that  it 
is  close  at  hand  —  that  it  mil  occur  the  next 
second.  A  fear  more  overpowering  than  any 
she  has  hitherto  felt  takes  possession  of  her. 
She  is  absolutely  paralyzed.  She  does  not  even 
weep  more.  Her  eyes  are  glazed.  It  is  his  in- 
tention, then,  to  bring  down  upon  himself 
eternal  punishment. 

She  comprehends  that  he  wants  to  swear  him- 
self free  for  the  sake  of  his  wife.  But  even  if  the 
truth  were  to  make  trouble  in  his  home,  he 
should  not  for  that  reason  throw  away  his  soul's 
salvation. 

There  is  nothing  so  terrible  as  perjury.    There 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     9 

is  something  uncanny  and  awful  about  that  sin. 
There  is  no  mercy  or  condonation  for  it.  The 
gates  of  the  infernal  regions  open  of  their  own 
accord  when  the  perjurer's  name  is  mentioned. 

If  she  had  then  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  she 
would  have  been  afraid  of  seeing  it  stamped  with 
damnation's  mark,  branded  by  the  wrath  of  God. 

As  she  stands  there  and  works  herself  into 
greater  and  greater  terror,  the  Judge  instructs 
the  defendant  as  to  how  he  must  place  his  fingers 
on  the  Bible.  Then  the  Judge  opens  the  law 
book  to  find  the  form  of  the  oath. 

As  she  sees  him  place  his  fingers  on  the  book, 
she  comes  a  step  nearer,  and  it  appears  as  though 
she  wished  to  reach  across  the  table  and  push 
his  hand  away. 

But  as  yet  she  is  restrained  by  a  faint  hope. 
She  thinks  he  will  relent  now  —  at  the  last 
moment. 

The  Judge  has  found  the  place  in  the  law  book, 
and  now  he  begins  to  administer  the  oath  loudly 
and  distinctly.  Then  he  makes  a  pause  for  the 
defendant  to  repeat  his  words.  The  defendant 
actuaUy  starts  to  repeat,  but  he  stumbles  over 
the  words,  and  the  Judge  must  begin  again 
from  the  beginning. 

Now  she  can  no  longer  entertain  a  trace  of 
hope.    She  knows  now  that  he  means  to  swear 


lo     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

falsely  —  that  he  means  to  bring  down  upon 
himself  the  wrath  of  God,  both  for  this  hfe  and 
for  the  life  to  come. 

She  stands  wringing  her  hands  in  her  help- 
lessness. And  it  is  all  her  fault  because  she  has 
accused  him!  But  she  was  without  work;  she 
was  starving  and  freezing;  the  child  came  near 
dying.  To  whom  else  should  she  turn  for  help? 
Never  had  she  thought  that  he  would  be  willing 
to  commit  such  an  execrable  sin. 

The  Judge  has  again  administered  the  oath. 
In  a  few  seconds  the  thing  will  have  been  done: 
the  kind  of  thing  from  which  there  is  no  turning 
back  —  which  can  never  be  retrieved,  never 
blotted  out. 

Just  as  the  defendant  begins  to  repeat  the 
oath,  she  rushes  forward,  sweeps  away  his  out- 
stretched hand,  and  seizes  the  Bible. 

It  is  her  terrible  dread  which  has  finally  given 
her  courage.  He  must  not  swear  away  his 
soul;  he  must  not! 

The  court  ofiScer  hastens  forward  instantly 
to  take  the  Bible  from  her  and  to  bring  her  to 
order.  She  has  a  boundless  fear  of  all  that  per- 
tains to  a  Court  of  Justice  and  actually  believes 
that  what  she  has  just  done  will  bring  her  to 
prison;  but  she  does  not  let  go  her  hold  on  the 
Bible.     Cost  what  it  may,  he  cannot  take  the 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     ii 

oath.  He  who  would  swear  also  runs  up  to  take 
the  Bible,  but  she  resists  him  too. 

"You  shall  not  take  the  oath!"  she  cries, 
"you  shall  not!" 

That  which  is  happening  naturally  awakens 
the  greatest  surprise.  The  court  attendants 
elbow  their  way  up  to  the  bar,  the  jurymen 
start  to  rise,  the  recording  clerk  jumps  up  with 
the  ink  bottle  in  his  hand  to  prevent  its  being 
upset. 

Then  the  Judge  shouts  in  a  loud  and  angry 
tone,  "Silence!"  and  everybody  stands  per- 
fectly still. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?  What  busi- 
ness have  you  with  the  Bible?"  the  Judge  asks 
the  plaintiff  in  the  same  hard  and  severe  tone. 

Since,  with  the  courage  of  despair,  she  has 
been  able  to  give  utterance  to  her  distress,  her 
anxiety  has  decreased  so  that  she  can  answer, 
"He  must  not  take  the  oath!" 

"Be  silent,  and  put  back  the  book!"  de- 
mands the  Judge. 

She  does  not  obey,  but  holds  the  book  tightly 
with  both  hands.  "He  cannot  take  the  oath!" 
she  cries  fiercely. 

"Are  you  so  determined  to  win  your  suit?" 
asks  the  Judge  sharply. 

"I  want  to  withdraw  the  suit,"  she  shrieks  in 


12     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

a  high,  shrill  voice.  "I  don't  want  to  force  him 
to  swear." 

"What  are  you  shrieking  about?"  demands 
the  Judge.    "Have  you  lost  your  senses?" 

She  catches  her  breath  suddenly  and  tries  to 
control  herself.  She  hears  herself  how  she  is 
shrieking.  The  Judge  will  think  she  has  gone 
mad  if  she  cannot  say  what  she  would  say 
calmly.  She  struggles  with  herself  again  to  get 
control  of  her  voice,  and  this  time  she  succeeds. 
She  says  slowly,  earnestly,  and  clearly,  as  she 
looks  the  Judge  in  the  face:  "I  wish  to  withdraw 
the  suit.  He  is  the  father  of  the  child.  I  am 
still  fond  of  him.  I  don't  wish  him  to  swear 
falsely." 

She  stands  erect  and  resolute,  facing  the 
Judges'  table,  all  the  while  looking  the  Judge 
square  in  the  face.  He  sits  with  both  hands 
resting  on  the  table  and  for  a  long  while  does 
not  take  his  eyes  off  from  her.  While  the  Judge 
is  looking  at  her,  a  great  change  comes  over  him. 
All  the  ennui  and  displeasure  in  his  face  van- 
ishes, and  the  large,  rough-hewn  visage  becomes 
beautiful  with  the  most  beautiful  emotion. 
"Ah,  see!"  he  thinks  —  "Ah,  see!  such  is  the 
mettle  of  my  people.  I  shall  not  be  vexed  at 
them  when  there  is  so  much  love  and  godliness 
even  in  one  of  the  humblest." 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     13 

Suddenly  the  Judge  feels  his  eyes  fill  up  with 
tears;  then  he  pulls  himself  together,  almost 
ashamed,  and  casts  a  hasty  glance  about  him. 
He  sees  that  the  clerks  and  baiHlTs  and  the  whole 
long  row  of  jurymen  are  leaning  forward  and 
looking  at  the  girl  who  stands  before  the  Judges' 
table  with  the  Bible  hugged  close  to  her.  And 
he  sees  a  hght  in  their  faces,  as  though  they  had 
seen  something  very  beautiful,  which  had  made 
them  happy  all  the  way  into  their  souls. 

Then  the  Judge  casts  a  glance  over  the  specta- 
tors, and  he  sees  that  they  all  breathe  a  quick 
sigh  of  relief,  as  if  they  had  just  heard  what  they 
had  longed  above  everything  to  hear. 

Finally,  the  Judge  looks  at  the  defendant. 
Now  it  is  he  who  stands  with  lowered  head  and 
looks  at  the  floor. 

The  Judge  turns  once  more  to  the  poor  girl. 
"It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  says.  "The  case 
shall  be  stricken  from  the  Calendar,"  —  this  to 
the  recording  clerk. 

The  defendant  makes  a  move,  as  though  he 
wished  to  interpose  an  objection.  "Well,  what 
now?"  the  Judge  bellows  at  him.  "Have  you 
anything  against  it?" 

The  defendant's  head  hangs  lower  and  lower, 
and  he  says,  almost  inaudibly,  "Oh,  no,  I  dare 
say  it  is  best  to  let  it  go  that  way." 


14    THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT ^ 

The  Judge  sits  still  a  moment  more,  and  then 
he  pushes  the  heavy  chair  back,  rises,  and  walks 
around  the  table  and  up  to  the  plaintiff. 

"Thank  you! "  he  says  and  gives  her  his  hand. 

She  has  laid  down  the  Bible  and  stands  wip- 
ing away  the  tears  with  the  crumpled  up 
handkerchief. 

''Thank  you!"  says  the  Judge  once  more, 
taking  her  hand  and  shaking  it  as  if  it  belonged 
to  a  real  man's  man. 


II 


Let  no  one  imagine  that  the  girl  who  had  passed 
through  such  a  trying  ordeal  at  the  bar  of  jus- 
tice thought  that  she  had  done  anything  praise- 
worthy! On  the  contrary,  she  considered  her- 
self disgraced  before  the  whole  court  room.  She 
did  not  understand  that  there  was  something 
honorable  in  the  fact  that  the  Judge  had  gone 
over  and  shaken  hands  with  her.  She  thought 
it  simply  meant  that  the  trial  was  over  and  that 
she  might  go  her  way. 

Nor  did  she  observe  that  people  gave  her 
kindly  glances  and  that  there  were  several  who 
wanted  to  press  her  hand.  She  stole  by  and 
wanted  only  to  go.  There  was  a  crush  at  the 
door.     The  court  was  over  and  many  in  their 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     15 

hurry  to  get  out  made  a  rush  for  the  door.  She 
drew  aside  and  was  about  the  last  person  to 
leave  the  court  room  because  she  felt  that  every 
one  else  ought  to  go  before  her. 

When  she  finally  came  out,  Gudmund  Er- 
landsson's  cart  stood  in  waiting  at  the  door. 
Gudmund  was  seated  in  the  cart,  holding  the 
reins,  and  was  apparently  waiting  for  some  one. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  her  among  all  the  people  who 
poured  out  of  the  court  room,  he  called  to  her: 
*'Come  here,  Helga!  You  can  ride  with  me 
since  we  are  going  in  the  same  direction." 

Although  she  heard  her  name,  she  could  not 
believe  that  it  was  she  whom  he  was  calling.  It 
was  not  possible  that  Gudmund  Erlandsson 
wanted  to  ride  with  her.  He  was  the  most  at- 
tractive man  in  the  whole  parish,  young  and 
handsome  and  of  good  family  connections  and 
popular  with  every  one.  She  could  not  imagine 
that  he  wished  to  associate  with  her. 

She  was  walking  with  the  head  shawl  drawn 
far  down  on  her  forehead,  and  was  hasten- 
ing past  him  without  either  glancing  up  or 
answering, 

"  Don't  you  hear,  Helga,  that  you  can  ride 
with  me?  "  said  Gudmund,  and  there  was  a 
friendly  note  in  his  voice.  But  she  could  n't 
grasp  that  Gudmund  meant  well  by  her.    She 


i6     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

thought  that,  in  one  way  or  another,  he  wished 
to  make  sport  of  her  and  was  only  waiting  for 
those  who  stood  near  by  to  begin  tittering  and 
laughing.  She  cast  a  frightened  and  indignant 
glance  at  him,  and  almost  ran  from  the  Court 
House  grounds  to  be  out  of  earshot  when  the 
laughter  should  start  in. 

Gudmund  was  unmarried  at  that  time  and 
lived  at  home  with  his  parents.  His  father  was 
a  farm-owner.  His  was  not  a  large  farm  and  he 
was  not  rich,  but  he  made  a  good  living.  The 
son  had  gone  to  the  Court  House  to  fetch  some 
deeds  for  his  father,  but  as  there  was  also  an- 
other purpose  in  the  trip,  he  had  groomed  him- 
self carefully.  He  had  taken  the  brand-new 
trap  with  not  a  crack  in  the  lacquering,  had 
rubbed  up  the  harness  and  curried  the  horse  un- 
til he  shone  like  satin.  He  had  placed  a  bright 
red  blanket  on  the  seat  beside  him,  and  himself 
he  had  adorned  with  a  short  hunting-jacket,  a 
small  gray  felt  hat,  and  top  boots,  into  which  the 
trousers  were  tucked.  This  was  no  holiday  at- 
tire, but  he  probably  knew  that  he  looked  hand- 
some and  manly. 

Gudmund  was  seated  alone  in  the  cart  when 
he  drove  from  home  in  the  morning,  but  he  had 
agreeable  things  to  think  of  and  the  time  had 
not  seemed  long  to  him.    When  he  had  arrived 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     17 

about  half-way,  he  came  across  a  poor  young 
girl  who  was  walking  very  slowly  and  looked  as 
though  she  were  scarcely  able  to  move  her 
feet  because  of  exhaustion.  It  was  autumn  and 
the  road  was  rain-soaked,  and  Gudmund  saw 
how,  with  every  step,  she  sank  deeper  into  the 
mud.  He  stopped  and  asked  where  she  was 
going.  When  he  learned  that  she  was  on  her 
way  to  the  Court  House,  he  invited  her  to  ride. 
She  thanked  him  and  stepped  up  on  the  back  of 
the  cart  to  the  narrow  board  where  the  hay  sack 
was  tied,  as  though  she  dared  not  touch  the  red 
blanket  beside  Gudmund.  Nor  was  it  his  mean- 
ing that  she  should  sit  beside  him.  He  did  n't 
know  who  she  was,  but  he  supposed  her  to  be 
the  daughter  of  some  poor  backwoodsman  and 
thought  the  rear  of  the  cart  was  quite  good 
enough  for  her. 

When  they  came  to  a  steep  hill  and  the  horse 
began  to  slow  up,  Gudmund  started  talking. 
He  wanted  to  know  her  name  and  where  she  was 
from.  When  he  learned  that  her  name  was 
Helga,  and  that  she  came  from  a  backwoods 
farm  called  Big  Marsh,  he  began  to  feel  uneasy. 
"Have  you  always  lived  at  home  on  the  farm 
or  have  you  been  out  to  service?"  he  asked. 

The  past  year  she  had  been  at  home,  but 
before  this  she  had  been  working  out. 


i8     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

"Where?"   asked  Gudmund  hastily. 

He  thought  it  was  a  long  while  before  the 
answer  was  forthcoming.  "At  the  West  Farm, 
with  Per  Martensson,"  she  said  finally,  sinking 
her  voice  as  if  she  would  rather  not  have  been 
heard. 

But  Gudmund  heard  her.  "Indeed!  Then  it 
is  you  who  —  "  said  he,  but  did  not  conclude 
his  meaning.  He  turned  from  her,  and  sat  up 
straight  in  his  seat  and  said  not  another  word 
to  her. 

Gudmund  gave  the  horse  rap  upon  rap  and 
talked  loudly  to  himself  about  the  wretched 
condition  of  the  road  and  was  in  a  very  bad 
humor. 

The  girl  sat  still  for  a  moment;  presently 
Gudmund  felt  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "What 
do  you  wish?"  he  asked  without  turning  his 
head. 

Oh,  he  was  to  stop,  so  she  could  jump 
out. 

"Why  so?"  sneered  Gudmund.  "Aren't 
you  riding  comfortably?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  but  I  prefer  to  walk." 

Gudmund  struggled  a  little  with  himself.  It 
was  provoking  that  he  should  have  bidden  a 
person  of  Helga's  sort  to  ride  with  him  to-day 
of  all  days!    But   he  thought  also  that  since 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     19 

he  had  taken  her  into  the  wagon,  he  could  not 
drive  her  out. 

"Stop,  Gudmund!"  said  the  girl  once  again. 
She  spoke  in  a  very  decided  tone,  and  Gud- 
mund drew  in  the  reins. 

"It  is  she,  of  course,  who  wishes  to  step 
down,"  thought  he.  "I  don't  have  to  force  her 
to  ride  against  her  wiU." 

She  was  down  on  the  road  before  the  horse 
had  time  to  stop.  "I  thought  you  knew  who  I 
was  when  you  asked  me  to  ride,"  she  said,  "or 
I  should  not  have  stepped  into  the  cart." 

Gudmund  muttered  a  short  good-bye  and 
drove  on.  She  was  doubtless  right  in  think- 
ing that  he  knew  her.  He  had  seen  the  girl  from 
the  marsh  croft  many  times  as  a  child,  but  she 
had  changed  since  she  was  grown  up.  At  first 
he  was  very  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  travelling  com- 
panion, but  gradually  he  began  to  feel  displeased 
with  himself.  He  could  hardly  have  acted  dif- 
ferently, yet  he  did  not  hke  being  cruel  to 
any  one. 

Shortly  after  Gudmund  had  parted  from 
Helga,  he  turned  out  of  the  road  and  up  a  nar- 
row street,  and  came  to  a  large  and  fine  estate. 
As  Gudmund  drew  up  before  the  gate,  the 
house  door  opened  and  one  of  the  daughters 
appeared. 


20     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

Gudmund  raised  his  hat;  at  the  same  time  a 
faint  flush  covered  his  face.  "Wonder  if  the 
Juryman  is  at  home?"    said  he. 

'No,  father  has  gone  down  to  the  Court 
House,"  repHed  the  daughter. 

*'0h,  then  he  has  already  gone,"  said  Gud- 
mund. "I  drove  over  to  ask  if  the  Juryman 
would  ride  with  me.  I  'm  going  to  the  Court 
House." 

"Father  is  always  so  punctual!"  bewailed 
the  daughter. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Gudmund. 

"Father  would  have  been  pleased,  I  dare  say, 
to  ride  behind  such  a  fine  horse  and  in  such 
a  pretty  cart  as  you  have,"  remarked  the  girl 
pleasantly. 

Gudmund  smiled  a  little  when  he  heard  this 
commendation. 

"Well,  then,  I  must  be  off  again,"  said  he. 

"Won't  you  step  in,  Gudmund?" 

"Thank  you,  Hildur,  but  I  'm  going  to  the 
Court  House,  you  know.  It  won't  do  for  me  to 
be  late." 

Now  Gudmund  takes  the  direct  road  to  the 
Court  House.  He  was  very  well  pleased  with 
himself  and  thought  no  more  of  his  meeting  with 
Helga.  It  was  fortunate  that  only  Hildur  had 
come  out  on  the  porch  and  that  she  had  seen  the 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     21 

cart  and  blanket,  the  horse  and  harness.  She 
had  probably  taken  note  of  everything. 

This  was  the  first  time  Gudmund  had  at- 
tended a  Court.  He  thought  that  there  was 
much  to  see  and  learn,  and  remained  the  whole 
day.  He  was  sitting  in  the  court  room  when 
Helga's  case  came  up;  saw  how  she  snatched 
the  Bible  and  hugged  it  close,  and  saw  how  she 
defied  both  court  attendants  and  Judge.  When 
it  was  all  over  and  the  Judge  had  shaken  hands 
with  Helga,  Gudmund  rose  quickly  and  went 
out.  He  hurriedly  hitched  the  horse  to  the 
cart  and  drove  up  to  the  steps.  He  thought 
Helga  had  been  brave,  and  now  he  wished  to 
honor  her.  But  she  was  so  frightened  that  she 
did  not  understand  his  purpose,  and  stole  away 
from  his  intended  honor. 

The  same  day  Gudmund  came  to  the  marsh 
croft  late  in  the  evening.  It  was  a  httle  croft, 
which  lay  at  the  base  of  the  forest  ridge  that 
enclosed  the  parish.  The  road  leading  thither 
was  passable  for  a  horse  only  in  winter,  and 
Gudmund  had  to  go  there  on  foot.  It  was 
difficult  for  him  to  find  his  way.  He  came  near 
breaking  his  legs  on  stumps  and  stones,  and  he 
had  to  wade  through  brooks  which  crossed  the 
path  in  several  places.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
bright  moonlight,  he  could  not  have  found  his 


22     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

way  to  the  croft.  He  thought  it  was  a  very  hard 
road  that  Helga  had  to  tramp  this  day. 

Big  Marsh  croft  lay  on  the  clearing  about 
half-way  up  the  ridge.  Gudmund  had  never 
been  there  before,  but  he  had  often  seen  the 
place  from  the  valley  and  was  sufl&ciently  familiar 
with  it  to  know  that  he  had  gone  aright. 

All  around  the  clearing  lay  a  hedge  of  brush- 
wood, which  was  very  thick  and  difficult  to  get 
through.  It  was  probably  meant  to  be  a  kind 
of  defence  and  protection  against  the  whole  wil- 
derness that  surrounded  the  croft.  The  cabin 
stood  at  the  upper  edge  of  the  enclosure.  Before 
it  stretched  a  sloping  house-yard  covered  with 
short,  thick  grass;  and  below  the  yard  lay  a 
couple  of  gray  outhouses  and  a  larder  with  a 
moss-covered  roof.  It  was  a  poor  and  humble 
place,  but  one  could  n't  deny  that  it  was  pic- 
turesque up  there.  The  marsh,  from  which  the 
croft  had  derived  its  name,  lay  somewhere 
near  and  sent  forth  mists  which  rose,  beautiful, 
splendid,  and  silvery,  in  the  moonlight,  forming 
a  halo  around  the  marsh.  The  highest  peak  of 
the  mountain  loomed  above  the  mist,  and  the 
ridge,  prickly  with  pines,  was  sharply  outHned 
against  the  horizon.  Over  the  valley  shone  the 
moon.  It  was  so  light  that  one  could  distinguish 
fields  and  orchards  and  a  winding  brook,  over 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     23 

which  the  mists  curled,  like  the  faintest  smoke. 
It  was  not  very  far  down  there,  but  the  pecuUar 
thing  was  that  the  valley  lay  Uke  a  world  apart, 
with  which  the  forest  and  all  that  belonged  to 
it  seemed  to  have  nothing  in  common.  It  was 
as  if  the  people  who  Uved  here  in  the  forest  must 
ever  remain  under  the  shadow  of  these  trees. 
They  might  find  it  quite  as  hard  to  feel  con- 
tented down  in  the  valley  as  woodcock  and 
eagle-owl  and  lynx  and  star-flowers. 

Gudmund  tramped  across  the  open  grass-plot 
and  up  to  the  cabin.  There  a  gleam  of  fireUght 
streamed  through  the  window.  As  there  were 
no  shades  at  the  windows,  he  peeped  into  the 
cabin  to  see  if  Helga  was  there.  A  small  lamp 
burned  on  the  table  near  the  window,  and  there 
sat  the  master  of  the  house,  mending  old  shoes. 
The  mistress  was  seated  farther  back  in  the 
room,  close  to  the  fireplace,  where  a  slow  fire 
burned.  The  spinning-wheel  was  before  her,  but 
she  had  paused  in  her  work  to  play  with  a 
little  child.  She  had  taken  it  up  from  the  cradle, 
and  Gudmund  heard  how  she  prattled  to  it. 
Her  face  was  lined  and  wrinkled  and  she  looked 
severe.  But,  as  she  bent  over  the  child,  she  had 
a  mild  expression  and  she  smiled  as  tenderly  at 
the  Uttle  one  as  his  own  mother  might  have  done. 
;    Gudmund  peered  in,  but  could  not  see  Helga 


24     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

in  any  corner  of  the  cabin.  Then  he  thought 
it  was  best  to  remain  outside  until  she  came. 
He  was  surprised  that  she  had  not  reached 
home.  Perhaps  she  had  stopped  on  the  way 
somewhere  to  see  an  acquaintance  and  to  get 
some  food  and  rest?  At  all  events,  she  would 
have  to  come  back  soon  if  she  wished  to  be  in- 
doors before  it  was  very  late  at  night. 

Gudmund  stood  still  a  moment  and  listened  for 
footsteps.  He  thought  that  never  before  had  he 
sensed  such  stillness.  It  was  as  though  the  whole 
forest  held  its  breath  and  stood  waiting  for 
something  extraordinary  to  happen. 

No  one  tramped  in  the  forest,  no  branch  was 
broken,  and  no  stone  rolled  down. 

"Surely,  Helga  won't  be  long  in  coming!  I 
wonder  what  she  will  say  when  she  sees  that 
I'm  here?"  thought  Gudmund.  "Perhaps  she 
will  scream  and  rush  into  the  forest  and  will  not 
dare  come  home  the  whole  night!" 

At  the  same  time  it  struck  him  as  rather 
strange  that  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  had  so 
much  business  with  that  marsh  croft  girl! 

On  his  return  from  the  Court  House  to  his 
home,  he  had,  as  usual,  gone  to  his  mother  to 
relate  his  experiences  of  the  day.  Gudmund's 
mother  was  a  sensible  and  broad-minded  woman 
who  had  always  understood  how  to  treat  her 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     25 

son,  and  he  had  as  much  confidence  in  her  now 
as  when  he  was  a  child.  She  had  been  an  invalid 
for  several  years  and  could  not  walk,  but  sat  all 
day  in  her  chair.  It  was  always  a  good  hour 
for  her  when  Gudmund  came  home  from  an  out- 
ing and  brought  her  the  news. 

When  Gudmund  had  told  his  mother  about 
Helga  from  Big  Marsh,  he  observed  that  she 
became  thoughtful.  For  a  long  while  she  sat 
quietly  and  looked  straight  ahead.  "There 
seems  to  be  something  good  in  that  girl  still," 
she  remarked.  "It  will  never  do  to  condemn  a 
person  because  she  has  once  met  with  misfortune. 
She  might  be  very  grateful  to  any  one  who 
helped  her  now." 

Gudmund  apprehended  at  once  what  his 
mother  was  thinking  of.  She  could  no  longer 
help  herself,  but  must  have  some  one  near  her 
continually,  and  it  was  always  difficult  to  find 
anybody  who  cared  to  remain  in  that  capacity. 
His  mother  was  exacting  and  not  easy  to  get  on 
with,  and,  moreover,  all  young  folk  preferred 
other  work  where  they  could  have  more  freedom. 
Now,  it  must  have  occurred  to  his  mother  that 
she  ought  to  take  Helga  from  Big  Marsh  into  her 
service,  and  Gudmund  thought  this  a  capital 
idea.  Helga  would  certainly  be  very  devoted 
to  his  mother. 


26     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

"It  will  be  hard  for  the  child,"  remarked  the 
mother  after  a  little,  and  Gudmund  understood 
that  she  was  thinking  seriously  of  the  matter. 

"Surely  the  parents  would  let  it  stay  with 
them?"    said  Gudmund. 

"It  does  not  follow  that  she  wants  to  part 
with  it." 

"She  will  have  to  give  up  thinking  of  what 
she  wants  or  does  n't  want.  I  thought  that 
she  looked  starved  out.  They  can't  have  much 
to  eat  at  the  croft,"  said  the  son. 

To  this  his  mother  made  no  reply,  but  began 
to  talk  of  something  else.  It  was  evident  that 
some  new  misgivings  had  come  to  her,  which 
hindered  her  from  coming  to  a  decision. 

Then  Gudmund  told  her  of  how  he  had 
found  a  pretext  for  calling  at  the  Juryman's  at 
Alvakra  and  had  met  Hildur.  He  mentioned 
what  she  had  said  of  the  horse  and  wagon,  and 
it  was  easily  seen  that  he  was  pleased  with  the 
meeting.  His  mother  was  also  very  much 
pleased.  Where  she  sat  in  the  cottage,  unable  to 
move  from  her  chair,  it  was  her  constant  occu- 
pation to  spin  plans  for  her  son's  future,  and  it 
was  she  who  had  first  hit  upon  the  idea  that  he 
should  try  and  set  his  cap  for  the  pretty  daughter 
of  the  Juryman.  It  was  the  finest  match  he 
could  make. 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     27 

The  Juryman  was  a  yeoman  farmer.  He 
owned  the  largest  farm  in  the  parish  and  had 
much  money  and  power.  It  was  really  absurd 
to  hope  that  he  would  be  satisfied  with  a  son- 
in-law  with  no  more  wealth  than  Gudmund, 
but  it  was  also  possible  that  he  would  conform 
to  his  daughter's  wishes.  That  Gudmund  could 
win  Hildur  if  he  so  wished,  his  mother  was 
certain. 

This  was  the  first  time  Gudmund  had  be- 
trayed to  his  mother  that  her  thought  had  taken 
root  in  him,  and  they  talked  long  of  Hildur  and 
of  all  the  riches  and  advantages  that  would 
come  to  the  chosen  one.  Soon  there  was  an- 
other lull  in  the  conversation,  for  his  mother 
was  again  absorbed  in  her  thoughts.  "  Could  n't 
you  send  for  this  Helga?  I  should  Hke  to  see  her 
before  taking  her  into  my  service,"  said  the 
mother  finally. 

"It  is  well,  mother,  that  you  wish  to  take  her 
under  your  wing,"  remarked  Gudmund,  think- 
ing to  himself  that  if  his  mother  had  a  nurse 
with  whom  she  was  satisfied,  his  wife  would 
have  a  pleasanter  life  here.  "You'll  see  that 
you  will  be  pleased  with  the  girl,"  he  contmued. 

"Then,  too,  it  would  be  a  good  deed  to  take 
her  in  hand,"  added  the  mother. 

As  it  grew  dusk,  the  invalid  retired,  and  Gud- 


28     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

mund  went  out  to  the  stable  to  tend  the  horses. 
It  was  beautiful  weather,  with  a  clear  atmos- 
phere, and  the  whole  tract  lay  bathed  in  moon- 
light. It  occurred  to  him  that  he  ought  to  go 
to  Big  Marsh  to-night  and  convey  his  mother's 
greeting.  If  the  weather  should  continue  clear 
on  the  morrow,  he  would  be  so  busy  taking  in 
oats  that  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  would  find 
time  to  go  there. 

Now  that  Gudmund  was  standing  outside  the 
cabin  at  Big  Marsh  croft  Ustening,  he  certainly 
heard  no  footsteps.  But  there  were  other 
soimds  which  at  short  intervals  pierced  through 
the  stillness.  He  heard  a  soft  weeping,  a  very 
low  and  smothered  moaning,  with  now  and  then 
a  sob.  Gudmund  thought  that  the  sounds 
came  from  the  outhouse  lane,  and  he  walked 
toward  it.  As  he  was  nearing,  the  sobs  ceased; 
but  it  was  evident  that  some  one  moved  in  the 
woodshed.  Gudmund  seemed  to  comprehend 
instantly  who  was  there.  "Is  it  you,  Helga, 
who  sit  here  and  weep?"  asked  Gudmund, 
placing  himself  in  the  doorway  so  that  the 
girl  could  not  rush  away  before  he  had  spoken 
with  her. 

Again  it  was  perfectly  still.  Gudmund  had 
guessed  rightly  that  it  was  Helga  who  sat  there 
and  wept;  but  she  tried  to  smother  the  sobs, 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     29 

SO  that  Gudmund  would  think  he  had  heard 
wrongly  and  go  away.  It  was  pitch  dark  in 
the  woodshed,  and  she  knew  that  he  could  not 
see  her. 

But  Helga  was  in  such  despair  that  evening  it 
was  not  easy  for  her  to  keep  back  the  sobs.  She 
had  not  as  yet  gone  into  the  cabin  to  see  her 
parents.  She  had  n't  had  the  courage  to  go  in. 
When  she  trudged  up  the  steep  hill  in  the  twi- 
light and  thought  of  how  she  must  tell  her 
parents  that  she  was  not  to  receive  any  assist- 
ance from  Per  Martensson  in  the  rearing  of  her 
child,  she  began  to  fear  all  the  harsh  and  cruel 
things  she  felt  they  would  say  to  her  and  thought 
of  burying  herself  in  the  swamp.  And  in  her 
terror  she  jumped  up  and  tried  to  rush  past 
Gudmund;  but  he  was  too  alert  for  her.  "Oh, 
no!  You  sha'n't  get  by  before  I  have  spoken 
with  you." 

''Only  let  me  go!"  she  said,  looking  wildly 
at  him. 

"You  look  as  though  you  wanted  to  jump  into 
the  river,"  said  he;  for  now  she  was  out  in  the 
moonlight  and  he  could  see  her  face. 

"WeU,  what  matters  it  if  I  did?"  said  Helga, 
throwing  her  head  back  and  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eye.  "This  morning  you  didn't  even 
care  to  have  me  ride  on  the  back  of  your  cart. 


30     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFJl 

No  one  wants  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me! 
You  must  surely  understand  that  it  is  best  for 
a  miserable  creature  like  me  to  put  an  end  to 
herself." 

Gudmund  did  not  know  what  to  do  next. 
He  wished  himself  far  away,  but  he  thought, 
also,  that  he  could  not  desert  a  person  who  was 
in  such  distress.  "Listen  to  me!  Only  prom- 
ise that  you  will  listen  to  what  I  have  to 
say  to  you;  afterwards  you  may  go  wherever 
you  wish." 

She  promised. 

"Is  there  anything  here  to  sit  on?" 

"The  chopping-block  is  over  yonder." 

"Then  go  over  there  and  sit  down  and  be 
quiet!" 

She  went  very  obediently  and  seated  herself. 

"And  don't  cry  any  more!"  said  he,  for  he 
thought  he  was  beginning  to  get  control  over  her. 
But  he  should  not  have  said  this,  for  immediately 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  cried  harder 
than  ever. 

"Stop  crying!"  he  said,  ready  to  stamp  his 
foot  at  her.  "There  are  those,  I  dare  say,  who 
are  worse  off  than  you  are," 

"No,  no  one  can  be  worse  off!" 

"You  are  young  and  strong.  You  should  see 
how  my  mother  fares!    She  is  so  wasted  from 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     31 

suffering  that  she  cannot  move,  but  she  never 
complains." 

*'  She  is  not  abandoned  by  everybody,  as  I  am." 

"You  are  not  abandoned,  either.  I  have  spoken 
with  my  mother  about  you." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  sobs.  One  heard, 
as  it  were,  the  great  stillness  of  the  forest,  which 
always  held  its  breath  and  waited  for  something 
wonderful.  ''I  was  to  say  to  you  that  you  should 
come  down  to  my  mother  to-morrow  that  she 
might  see  you.  Mother  thinks  of  asking  if  you 
would  care  to  take  service  with  us." 

"Did  she  think  of  asking  we.?" 

"Yes;   but  she  wants  to  see  you  first." 

"Does  she  know  that  —  " 

"She  knows  as  much  about  you  as  all  the 
rest  do." 

The  girl  leaped  up  with  a  cry  of  joy  and  won- 
derment, and  the  next  moment  Gudmund  felt 
a  pair  of  arms  around  his  neck.  He  was  thor- 
oughly frightened,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to 
break  loose  and  run;  but  he  calmed  himself  and 
stood  still.  He  understood  that  the  girl  was  so 
beside  herself  with  joy  that  she  did  n't  know 
what  she  was  doing.  At  that  moment  she 
could  have  hugged  the  worst  ruffian,  only  to  find 
a  Httle  sympathy  in  the  great  happiness  that 
had  come  to  her. 


32     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

"If  she  will  take  me  into  her  service,  I  can 
live!"  said  she,  burying  her  head  on  Gudmund's 
breast  and  weeping  again.  "You  may  know  that 
I  was  in  earnest  when  I  wished  to  go  down  into 
the  swamp,"  she  said.  "You  deserve  thanks 
for  coming.  You  have  saved  my  life."  Until 
then  Gudmund  had  been  standing  motionless, 
but  now  he  felt  that  something  tender  and  warm 
was  beginning  to  stir  within  him.  He  raised  his 
hand  and  stroked  her  hair.  Then  she  started,  as 
if  awakened  from  a  dream,  and  stood  up  straight 
as  a  rod  before  him.  "You  deserve  thanks  for 
coming,"  she  repeated.  She  had  become  flame- 
red  in  the  face,  and  he  too  reddened. 

"Well,  then,  you  will  come  home  to-morrow," 
he  said,  putting  out  his  hand  to  say  good-bye. 

"I  shall  never  forget  that  you  came  to  me  to- 
night!" said  Helga,  and  her  great  gratitude  got 
the  mastery  over  her  shyness. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  well  perhaps  that  I  came," 
he  said  quite  calmly,  and  he  felt  rather  pleased 
with  himself.    "You  will  go  in  now,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  now  I  shall  go  in." 

Gudmund  suddenly  felt  himself  rather  pleased 
with  Helga  too  —  as  one  usually  is  with  a  per- 
son whom  one  has  succeeded  in  helping.  She 
lingered  and  did  not  want  to  go.  "I  would  like 
to  see  you  safely  under  shelter  before  I  leave." 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     33 

"I  thought  they  might  retire  before  I  went  in." 

"No,  you  must  go  in  at  once,  so  that  you  can 
have  your  supper  and  rest  yourself,"  said  he, 
thinking  it  was  agreeable  to  take  her  in  hand. 

She  went  at  once  to  the  cabin,  and  he  accom- 
panied her,  pleased  and  proud  because  she 
obeyed  him. 

When  she  stood  on  the  threshold,  they  said 
good-bye  to  each  other  again;  but  before  he 
had  gone  two  paces,  she  came  after  him.  "Re- 
main just  outside  the  door  until  I  am  in.  It  will 
be  easier  for  me  if  I  know  that  you  are  standing 
without." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  shall  stand  here  until  you 
have  come  over  the  worst  of  it." 

Then  Helga  opened  the  cabin  door,  and  Gud- 
mund  noticed  that  she  left  it  slightly  ajar.  It 
was  as  if  she  did  not  wish  to  feel  herself  separated 
from  her  helper  who  stood  without.  Nor  did 
he  feel  any  compunction  about  hearing  all  that 
happened  within  the  cabin. 

The  old  folks  nodded  pleasantly  to  Helga  as 
she  came  in.  Her  mother  promptly  laid  the 
child  in  the  crib,  and  then  went  over  to  the  cup- 
board and  brought  out  a  bowl  of  milk  and  a 
bread  cake  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

"There!  Now  sit  down  and  eat,"  said  she. 
Then  she  went  up  to  the  fireplace  and  freshened 

3 


34     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

the  fire.  "  I  have  kept  the  fire  alive,  so  you  could 
dry  your  feet  and  warm  yourself  when  you  came 
home.  But  eat  something  first!  It  is  food  that 
you  need  most." 

All  the  while  Helga  had  been  standing  at  the 
door.  "You  mustn't  receive  me  so  well, 
mother,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "I  will  get  no 
money  from  Per.    I  have  renounced  his  help." 

"There  was  some  one  here  from  the  Court 
House  this  evening  who  had  been  there  and 
heard  how  it  turned  out  for  you,"  said  the 
mother.     "We  know  all." 

Helga  was  still  standing  by  the  door,  looking 
out,  as  if  she  knew  not  which  was  in  or  out. 

Then  the  farmer  put  down  his  work,  pushed 
his  spectacles  up  on  his  forehead,  and  cleared  his 
throat  for  a  speech  of  which  he  had  been  think- 
ing the  whole  evening.  "It  is  a  fact,  Helga," 
said  he,  "that  mother  and  I  have  always  wanted 
to  be  decent  and  honorable  folk,  but  we  have 
thought  that  we  had  been  disgraced  on  your 
account.  It  was  as  though  we  had  not  taught 
you  to  distinguish  between  good  and  evil.  But 
when  we  learned  what  you  did  to-day,  we  said 
to  each  other  —  mother  and  I  —  that  now  folks 
could  see  anyway  that  you  have  had  a  proper 
bringing  up  and  right  teaching,  and  we  thought 
that  perhaps  we  might  yet  be  happy  in  you. 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     35 

And  mother  did  not  want  that  we  should  go  to 
bed  before  you  came  that  you  might  have  a 
hearty  welcome  home." 

Ill 

Helga  from  the  marsh  croft  came  to  Nar- 
lunda,  and  there  all  went  well.  She  was  willing 
and  teachable  and  grateful  for  every  kind  word 
said  to  her.  She  always  felt  herself  to  be  the 
humblest  of  mortals  and  never  wanted  to  push 
herself  ahead.  It  was  not  long  until  the  house- 
hold and  the  servants  were  satisfied  with  her. 

The  first  days  it  appeared  as  if  Gudmund  was 
afraid  to  speak  to  Helga.  He  feared  that  this 
croft  girl  would  get  notions  into  her  head  be- 
cause he  had  come  to  her  assistance.  But  these 
were  needless  worries.  Helga  regarded  him  as 
altogether  too  fine  and  noble  for  her  even  to 
raise  her  eyes  to.  Gudmund  soon  perceived  that 
he  did  not  have  to  keep  her  at  a  distance.  She 
was  more  shy  of  him  than  of  any  one  else. 

The  autumn  that  Helga  came  to  Narlunda, 
Gudmund  paid  many  visits  to  Alvakra,  and 
there  was  much  talk  about  the  good  chance  he 
stood  of  being  the  prospective  son-in-law  of  this 
estate.  That  the  courtship  had  been  successful 
all  were  assured  at  Christmas.    Then  the  Jury- 


36     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

man,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  came  over  to 
Narlunda,  and  it  was  evident  that  they  had 
come  there  to  see  how  Hildur  would  fare  if  she 
married  Gudmund. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Helga  saw,  at 
close  range,  her  whom  Gudmund  was  to  marry. 
Hildur  Ericsdotter  was  not  yet  twenty,  but  the 
marked  thing  about  her  was  that  no  one  could 
look  at  her  without  thinking  what  a  handsome 
and  dignified  mistress  she  would  be  some  day. 
She  was  tall  and  well  built,  fair  and  pretty,  and 
apparently  liked  to  have  many  about  her  to  look 
after.    She  was  never  timid;    she  talked  much 
and  seemed  to  know  everything  better  than  the 
one  with  whom  she  was  talking.     She  had  at- 
tended school  in  the  city  for  a  couple  of  years 
and  wore  the  prettiest  frocks  Helga  had  ever 
seen,  but  yet  she  did  n't  impress  one  as  being 
showy  or  vain.    Rich  and  beautiful  as  she  was, 
she  might  have  married  a  gentleman  at  any 
time,  but  she  always  declared  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  be  a  fine  lady  and  sit  with  folded  hands. 
She  wanted  to  marry  a  farmer  and  look  after  her 
own  house,  like  a  real  farmer's  wife. 

Helga  thought  Hildur  a  perfect  wonder. 
Never  had  she  seen  any  one  who  made  such  a 
superb  appearance.  Nor  had  she  ever  dreamed 
that  a  person  could  be  so  nearly  perfect  in  every 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     37 

particular.  To  her  it  seemed  a  great  joy  that 
in  the  near  future  she  was  to  serve  such  a 
mistress. 

Everything  had  gone  off  well  during  the 
Juryman's  visit.  But  whenever  Helga  looked 
back  upon  that  day,  she  experienced  a  certain 
unrest.  It  seems  that  when  the  visitors  had 
arrived,  she  had  gone  around  and  served  coffee. 
When  she  came  in  with  the  tray,  the  Juryman's 
wife  leaned  forward  and  asked  her  mistress  if  she 
was  not  the  girl  from  the  marsh  croft.  She  did 
not  lower  her  voice  much,  and  Helga  had  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  question. 

Mother  Ingeborg  answered  yes,  and  then 
the  other  had  said  something  which  Helga 
could  n't  hear.  But  it  was  to  the  effect  that 
she  thought  it  singular  they  wanted  a  person 
of  that  sort  in  the  house.  This  caused  Helga 
many  anxious  moments.  She  tried  to  console 
herself  with  the  thought  that  it  was  not  Hildur, 
but  her  mother,  who  had  said  this. 

One  Sunday  in  the  early  spring  Helga  and 
Gudmund  walked  home  together  from  church. 
As  they  came  down  the  slope,  they  were  with 
the  other  church  people;  but  soon  one  after 
another  dropped  off  until,  finally,  Helga  and 
Gudmund  were  alone. 

Then  Gudmund  happened  to  think  that  he 


38     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

had  not  been  alone  with  Helga  since  that  night  at 
the  croft,  and  the  memory  of  that  night  came 
forcibly  back  to  him.  He  had  thought  of  their 
first  meeting  often  enough  during  the  winter,  and 
with  it  he  had  always  felt  something  sweet  and 
pleasant  thrill  through  his  senses.  As  he  went 
about  his  work,  he  would  call  forth  in  thought 
that  whole  beautiful  evening:  the  white  mist, 
the  bright  moonHght,  the  dark  forest  heights, 
the  Ught  valley,  and  the  girl  who  had  thrown 
her  arms  round  his  neck  and  wept  for  joy.  The 
whole  incident  became  more  beautiful  each  time 
that  it  recurred  to  his  memory.  But  when  Gud- 
mund  saw  Helga  going  about  among  the  others 
at  home,  toiling  and  slaving,  it  was  hard  for  him 
to  think  that  it  was  she  who  had  shared  in  this. 
Now  that  he  was  walking  alone  with  her  on  the 
church  slope,  he  could  n't  help  wishing  for  a 
moment  that  she  would  be  the  same  girl  she 
was  on  that  evening. 

Helga  began  immediately  to  speak  of  Hildur. 
She  praised  her  much:  said  she  was  the  pretti- 
est and  most  sensible  girl  in  the  whole  parish, 
and  congratulated  Gudmund  because  he  would 
have  such  an  excellent  wife.  "You  must  tell  her 
to  let  me  remain  always  at  Narlunda,"  she  said. 
"It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  work  for  a  mistress 
Hke  her." 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     39 

Gudmund  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm,  but 
answered  only  in  monosyllables,  as  though  he 
did  not  exactly  follow  her.  It  was  well,  of 
course,  that  she  was  so  fond  of  Hildur,  and  so 
happy  because  he  was  going  to  be  married. 

"You  have  been  content  to  be  with  us  this 
winter?"  he  asked. 

"Indeed  I  have!  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you 
how  kind  mother  Ingeborg  and  all  of  you  have 
been  to  me!" 

"Have  you  not  been  homesick  for  the 
forest?" 

"Oh,  yes,  in  the  beginning,  but  not  now 
any  more." 

"I  thought  that  one  who  belonged  to  the 
forest  could  not  help  yearning  for  it." 

Helga  turned  half  round  and  looked  at  him, 
who  walked  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Gud- 
mund had  become  almost  a  stranger  to  her; 
but  now  there  was  something  in  his  voice,  his 
smile,  that  was  famiUar.  Yes,  he  was  the 
same  man  who  had  come  to  her  and  saved  her 
in  her  greatest  distress.  Although  he  was  to 
marry  another,  she  was  certain  that  he  wanted 
to  be  a  good  friend  to  her,  and  a  faithful 
helper. 

She  was  very  happy  to  feel  that  she  could  con- 
fide in  him,  as  in  none  other,  and  thought  that 


40     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

she  must  tell  him  of  all  that  had  happened  to 
her  since  they  last  talked  together.  "I  must 
tell  you  that  it  was  rather  hard  for  me  the  first 
weeks  at  Narlunda,"  she  began.  "But  you 
must  n't  speak  of  this  to  your  mother." 

"If  you  want  me  to  be  silent,  I'll  be  silent." 

"Fancy!  I  was  so  homesick  in  the  beginning 
that  I  was  about  to  go  back  to  the  forest." 

"Were  you  homesick?  I  thought  you  were 
glad  to  be  with  us." 

"I  simply  could  not  help  it,"  she  said  apolo- 
getically. "I  understood,  of  course,  how  well 
it  was  for  me  to  be  here;  you  were  all  so  good 
to  me,  and  the  work  was  not  so  hard  but  that  I 
could  manage  with  it,  but  I  was  homesick 
nevertheless.  There  was  something  that  took 
hold  of  me  and  wanted  to  draw  me  back  to 
the  forest.  I  thought  that  I  was  deserting  and 
betraying  some  one  who  had  a  right  to  me, 
when  I  wanted  to  stay  here  in  the  village." 

"It  was  perhaps — "began  Gudmund,  but 
checked  himself. 

"No,  it  was  not  the  boy  I  longed  for.  I 
knew  that  he  was  well  cared  for  and  that 
mother  was  kind  to  him.  It  was  nothing  in 
particular.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  a  wild  bird 
that  had  been  caged,  and  I  thought  I  should 
die  if  I  were  not  let  out." 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     41 

"To  think  that  you  had  such  a  hard  time 
of  it!"  said  Gudmund  smiling,  for  now,  all  at 
once,  he  recognized  her.  Now  it  was  as  if 
nothing  had  come  between  them,  but  that  they 
had  parted  at  the  forest  farm  the  evening  before. 

Helga  smiled  again,  but  continued  to  speak  of 
her  torments.  "I  didn't  sleep  a  single  night," 
said  she,  "and  as  soon  as  I  went  to  bed,  the 
tears  started  to  flow,  and  when  I  got  up  of  a 
morning,  the  pillow  was  wet  through.  In  the 
daytime,  when  I  went  about  among  all  of  you, 
I  could  keep  back  the  tears,  but  as  soon  as  I 
was  alone  my  eyes  would  fill  up." 

"You  have  wept  much  in  your  time,"  said 
Gudmund  without  looking  the  least  bit  s>Tn- 
pathetic  as  he  pronounced  the  words. 

Helga  thought  that  he  was  laughing  to  himself 
all  the  while.  "You  surely  don't  comprehend 
how  hard  it  was  for  me!"  she  said,  speaking 
faster  and  faster  in  her  effort  to  make  him  under- 
stand her.  "A  great  longing  took  possession 
of  me  and  carried  me  out  of  myself.  Not  for 
a  moment  could  I  feel  happy!  Nothing  w^as 
beautiful,  nothing  was  a  pleasure;  not  a  human 
being  could  I  become  attached  to.  You  all  re- 
mained just  as  strange  to  me  as  you  were  the 
first  time  I  entered  the  house." 

"But  did  n't  you  say  a  moment  ago  that  you 


42     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

wished  to  remain  with  us?"  said  Gudmund 
wonderingly. 

"Of  course  I  did!" 

"Then,  surely,  you  are  not  homesick  now?" 

"No,  it  has  passed  over.  I  have  been  cured. 
Wait,  and  you  shall  hear!" 

As  she  said  this,  Gudmund  crossed  to  the  other 
side  of  the  road  and  walked  beside  her,  laughing 
to  himself  all  the  while.  He  seemed  glad  to 
hear  her  speak,  but  probably  he  did  n't  attach 
much  importance  to  what  she  was  relating. 
Gradually  Helga  took  on  his  mood,  and  she 
thought  everything  was  becoming  easy  and 
light.  The  church  road  was  long  and  diflS- 
cult  to  walk,  but  to-day  she  was  not  tired. 
There  was  something  that  carried  her.  She 
continued  with  her  story  because  she  had  begun 
it,  but  it  was  no  longer  of  much  importance  to 
her  to  speak.  It  would  have  been  quite  as  agree- 
able to  her  if  she  might  have  walked  silently 
beside  him. 

"When  I  was  the  most  unhappy,"  she  said, 
"I  asked  mother  Ingeborg  one  Saturday  evening 
to  let  me  go  home  and  remain  over  Sunday. 
And  that  evening,  as  I  tramped  over  the  hills 
to  the  marsh,  I  believed  positively  that  I  should 
never  again  go  back  to  Narlunda.  But  at  home 
father  and  mother  were  so  happy  because  I 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     43 

had  found  service  with  good  and  respectable 
people,  that  I  did  n't  dare  tell  them  I  could  not 
endure  remaining  with  you.  Then,  too,  as  soon 
as  I  came  up  into  the  forest  all  the  anguish  and 
pain  vanished  entirely.  I  thought  the  whole 
thing  had  been  only  a  fancy.  And  then  it  was 
so  difficult  about  the  child.  Mother  had  become 
attached  to  the  boy  and  had  made  him  her  own. 
He  was  n't  mine  any  more.  And  it  was  well 
thus,  but  it  was  hard  to  get  used  to." 

"Perhaps  you  began  to  be  homesick  for  us?" 
blurted  Gudmund. 

"Oh,  no!  On  Monday  morning,  as  I  awoke 
and  thought  of  having  to  return  to  you,  the 
longing  came  over  me  again.  I  lay  crying  and 
fretting  because  the  only  right  and  proper  thing 
for  me  to  do  was  to  go  back  to  Narlunda.  But 
I  felt  all  the  same  as  though  I  were  going  to  be 
ill  or  lose  my  senses  if  I  went  back.  Suddenly 
I  remembered  having  once  heard  some  one  say 
that  if  one  took  some  ashes  from  the  hearth 
in  one's  own  home  and  strewed  them  on  the 
fire  in  the  strange  place,  one  would  be  rid  of 
homesickness." 

"Then  it  was  a  remedy  that  was  easy  to  take," 
said  Gudmund. 

"Yes,  but  it  was  supposed  to  have  this  effect 
also:  afterwards  one  could  never  be  content  in 


44     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

any  other  place.  If  one  were  to  move  from  the 
homestead  to  which  one  had  borne  the  ashes, 
one  must  long  to  get  back  there  again  just  as 
much  as  one  had  longed  before  to  get  away 
from  there." 

''Couldn't  one  carry  ashes  along  wherever 
one  moved  to?" 

"No,  it  can't  be  done  more  than  once.  After- 
wards there  is  no  turning  back,  so  it  was  a 
great  risk  to  try  anything  like  that." 

"I  shouldn't  have  taken  chances  on  a  thing 
of  that  kind,"  said  Gudmund,  and  she  could 
hear  that  he  was  laughing  at  her. 

"But  I  dared,  all  the  same,"  retorted  Helga. 
"It  was  better  than  having  to  appear  as  an 
ingrate  in  your  mother's  eyes  and  in  yours, 
when  you  had  tried  to  help  me.  I  brought  a 
little  ashes  from  home,  and  when  I  got  back  to 
Narlunda  I  watched  my  opportimity,  when  no 
one  was  in,  and  scattered  the  ashes  over  the 
hearth." 

"And  now  you  believe  it  is  ashes  that  have 
helped  you?" 

"Wait,  and  you  shall  hear  how  it  turned  out! 
Immediately  I  became  absorbed  in  my  work 
and  thought  no  more  about  the  ashes  all  that 
day.  I  grieved  exactly  as  before  and  was  just 
as  weary  of  everything  as  I  had  been.    There 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     45 

was  much  to  be  done  that  day,  both  in  the 
house  and  out  of  it,  and  when  I  finished  with 
the  evening's  milking  and  was  going  in,  the 
fire  on  the  hearth  was  already  hghted." 

"Now  I'm  very  curious  to  hear  what  hap- 
pened," said  Gudmund. 

"Think!  Already,  as  I  was  crossing  the  house 
yard,  I  thought  there  was  something  familiar  in 
the  gleam  from  the  fire,  and  when  I  opened  the 
door,  it  flashed  across  my  mind  that  I  was  going 
into  our  own  cabin  and  that  father  and  mother 
would  be  sitting  by  the  hearth.  This  flew  past 
like  a  dream,  but  when  I  came  in,  I  was  sur- 
prised that  it  looked  so  pretty  and  homelike  in 
the  cottage.  To  me  your  mother  and  the  rest 
of  you  had  never  appeared  as  pleasant  as  you 
did  in  the  fireHght.  It  seemed  really  good  to 
come  in,  and  this  was  not  so  before.  I  was  so 
astonished  that  I  could  hardly  keep  from  clap- 
ping my  hands  and  shouting.  I  thought  you 
were  all  so  changed.  You  were  no  longer  stran- 
gers to  me  and  I  could  talk  to  you  about  all 
sorts  of  things.  You  can  understand,  of  course, 
that  I  was  happy,  but  I  could  n't  help  being 
astonished.  I  wondered  if  I  had  been  bewitched, 
and  then  I  remembered  the  ashes  I  had  strewn 
over  the  hearth." 

"Yes,  it  was  marvellous,"   said   Gudmund. 


46     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROET 

He  did  not  believe  the  least  little  bit  in  witch- 
craft and  was  not  at  all  superstitious;  but  he 
did  n't  dislike  hearing  Helga  talk  of  such  things. 
"Now  the  wild  forest  girl  has  returned,"  thought 
he.  "Can  anybody  comprehend  how  one  who 
has  passed  through  all  that  she  has  can  still  be 
so  childish?" 

"Of  course  it  was  wonderful!"  said  Helga. 
"And  the  same  thing  has  been  coming  back  all 
winter.  As  soon  as  the  fire  on  the  hearth  was 
burning,  I  felt  the  same  confidence  and  security 
as  if  I  had  been  at  home.  But  there  must  be 
something  extraordinary  about  this  fire  —  not 
with  any  other  kind  of  fire,  perhaps  —  only 
that  which  burns  on  a  hearth,  with  all  the  house- 
hold gathered  around  it,  night  after  night.  It 
gets  sort  of  acquainted  with  one.  It  plays  and 
dances  for  one  and  talks  to  one,  and  sometimes 
it  is  ill-humored.  It  is  as  if  it  had  the  power  to 
create  comfort  and  discomfort.  I  thought  now 
that  the  fire  from  home  had  come  to  me  and  that 
it  gave  the  same  glow  of  pleasure  to  every  one 
here  that  it  had  done  back  home." 

"What  if  you  had  to  leave  Narlunda?"  said 
Gudmund. 

"Then  I  must  long  to  come  back  again  all 
my  life,"  said  she.  And  the  quiver  in  her  voice 
betrayed  that  this  was  spoken  in  profound 
seriousness. 


THE  GIRL   FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     47 

"Well,  I  shall  not  be  the  one  to  drive  you 
away!"  said  Gudmund.  Although  he  was 
laughing,  there  was  something  warm  in  his 
tone. 

They  started  no  new  subject  of  conversation, 
but  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  came  to  the 
homestead.  Now  and  then  Gudmund  turned 
his  head  to  look  at  her  who  was  walking  at  his 
side.  She  had  gathered  strength  after  her  hard 
time  of  the  year  before.  Her  features  were 
delicate  and  refined ;  her  hair  was  like  an  aureole 
around  her  head,  and  her  eyes  were  not  easy  to 
read.  Her  step  was  light  and  elastic,  and  when 
she  spoke,  the  words  came  readily,  yet  modestly. 
She  was  afraid  of  being  laughed  at,  still  she  had 
to  speak  out  what  was  in  her  heart. 

Gudmund  wondered  if  he  wished  Hildur  to  be 
like  this,  but  he  probably  did  n't.  This  Helga 
would  be  nothing  special  to  marry. 

A  fortnight  later  Helga  heard  that  she  must 
leave  Narlunda  in  April  because  Hildur  Erics- 
dotter  would  not  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
her.  The  master  and  mistress  of  the  house  did 
not  say  this  in  so  many  words,  but  the  mistress 
hinted  that  when  the  new  daughter-in-law  came, 
they  would  in  all  probability  get  so  much  help 
from  her  they  would  not  require  so  many  ser- 
vants.   On  another  occasion  she  said  she  had 


48     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

heard  of  a  good  place  where  Helga  would  fare 
better  than  with  them. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Helga  to  hear  any- 
thing further  to  understand  that  she  must  leave, 
and  she  immediately  announced  that  she  would 
move,  but  she  did  not  wish  any  other  situation 
and  would  return  to  her  home. 

It  was  apparent  that  it  was  not  of  their  own 
free  will  they  were  dismissing  Helga  from 
Narlunda. 

When  she  was  leaving,  there  was  a  spread  for 
her.  It  was  like  a  party,  and  mother  Ingeborg 
gave  her  such  heaps  of  dresses  and  shoes  that 
she,  who  had  come  to  them  with  only  a  bundle 
under  her  arm,  could  now  barely  find  room 
enough  in  a  chest  for  her  possessions. 

"I  shall  never  again  have  such  an  excellent 
servant  in  my  house  as  you  have  been,"  said 
mother  Ingeborg.  "  And  do  not  think  too  hard  of 
me  for  letting  you  go!  You  understand,  no 
doubt,  that  it  is  not  my  will,  this.  I  shall  not 
forget  you.  So  long  as  I  have  any  power,  you 
shall  never  have  to  suffer  want." 

She  arranged  with  Helga  that  she  was  to  weave 
sheets  and  towels  for  her.  She  gave  her  employ- 
ment for  at  least  half  a  year. 

Gudmund  was  in  the  woodshed  splitting  wood 
the  day  Helga  was  leaving.    He  did  not  come 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     49 

in  to  say  good-bye,  although  his  horse  was  at 
the  door.  He  appeared  to  be  so  busy  that  he 
did  n't  take  note  of  what  was  going  on.  She 
had  to  go  out  to  him  to  say  farewell. 

He  laid  down  the  axe,  took  Helga's  hand,  and 
said  rather  hurriedly,  "Thank  you  for  all!"  and 
began  chopping  again.  Helga  had  wanted  to 
say  something  about  her  understanding  that  it 
was  impossible  for  them  to  keep  her  and  that 
it  was  all  her  own  fault.  She  had  brought  this 
upon  herself.  But  Gudmund  chopped  away 
until  the  splinters  flew  around  him,  and  she 
could  n't  make  up  her  mind  to  speak. 

But  the  strangest  thing  about  this  whole 
moving  affair  was  that  the  master  himself,  old 
Erland  Erlandsson,  drove  Helga  up  to  the 
marsh. 

Gudmund's  father  was  a  little  weazened  man, 
with  a  bald  pate  and  beautiful  and  knowing 
eyes.  He  was  very  timid,  and  so  reticent  at 
times  that  he  did  not  speak  a  word  the  whole 
day.  So  long  as  everything  went  smoothly, 
one  took  no  notice  of  him,  but  when  anything 
went  wrong,  he  always  said  and  did  what  there 
was  to  be  said  and  done  to  right  matters.  He 
was  a  capable  accountant  and  enjoyed  the  con- 
fidence of  every  man  in  the  township.  He  exe- 
cuted all  kinds  of  public  commissions  and  was 

4 


50     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

more  respected  than  many  a  man  with  a  large 
estate  and  great  riches. 

Erland  Erlandsson  drove  Helga  home  in  his 
own  wagon,  and  he  would  n't  allow  her  to  step 
down  and  walk  up  any  of  the  hills.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  marsh  croft,  he  sat  a  long  while 
in  the  cabin  and  talked  with  Helga's  parents, 
telHng  them  of  how  pleased  he  and  mother 
Ingeborg  had  been  with  her.  It  was  only  be- 
cause they  did  not  need  so  many  servants  that 
they  were  sending  her  home.  She,  who  was  the 
youngest,  must  go.  They  had  felt  that  it  was 
wrong  to  dismiss  any  of  those  who  were  old  in 
their  service. 

Erland  Erlandsson's  speech  had  the  desired 
effect,  and  the  parents  gave  Helga  a  warm  wel- 
come. When  they  heard  that  she  had  received 
such  large  orders  that  she  could  support  herself 
with  weaving,  they  were  satisfied,  and  she  re- 
mained at  home. 

IV 

GuDMUND  thought  that  he  had  loved  Hildur 
until  the  day  when  she  exacted  from  him  the 
promise  that  Helga  should  be  sent  away  from 
Narlunda  ;  at  least  up  to  that  time  there  was 
no  one  whom  he  had  esteemed  more  highly 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     51 

than  Hildur.  No  other  young  girl,  to  his  think- 
ing, could  come  up  to  her.  It  had  been  a  pleasure 
for  him  to  picture  a  future  with  Hildur.  They 
would  be  rich  and  looked  up  to,  and  he  felt 
instinctively  that  the  home  Hildur  managed 
would  be  good  to  live  in.  He  liked  also  to 
think  that  he  would  be  well  supplied  with  money 
after  he  had  married  her.  He  could  then  improve 
the  land,  rebuild  all  the  tumble-down  houses, 
extend  the  farm,  and  be  a  real  landed  proprietor. 

The  same  Sunday  that  he  had  walked  home 
from  church  with  Helga,  he  had  driven  over 
to  Alvakra  in  the  evening.  Then  Hildur  had 
started  talking  about  Helga  and  had  said  that 
she  would  n't  come  to  Narlunda  until  that  girl 
was  sent  away.  At  first  Gudmund  had  tried 
to  dismiss  the  whole  matter  as  a  jest,  but  it 
was  soon  obvious  that  Hildur  was  in  earnest. 
Gudmund  pleaded  Helga's  cause  exceedingly 
well  and  remarked  that  she  was  very  young 
when  first  sent  out  to  service  and  it  was  not 
strange  that  things  went  badly  when  she  came 
across  such  a  worthless  fellow  as  Per  Martensson. 
But  since  his  mother  had  taken  her  in  hand, 
she  had  always  conducted  herself  well.  "  It 
can't  be  right  to  push  her  out,"  said  he.  "  Then, 
perhaps,  she  might  meet  with  misfortune  again." 

But  Hildur  would  not  yield.     "  If  that  girl 


52     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

is  to  remain  at  Narlunda,  then  I  will  never  come 
there,"  she  declared.  *'  I  cannot  tolerate  a  per- 
son of  that  kind  in  my  home." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  doing,"  said 
Gudmund.  "  No  one  understands  so  well  as 
Helga  how  to  care  for  mother.  We  have  all  been 
glad  that  she  came  to  us.  Before  she  came, 
mother  was  often  peevish  and  depressed." 

"  I  shall  not  compel  you  to  send  her  away," 
said  Hildur,  but  it  was  clear  that  if  Gudmund 
were  to  take  her  at  her  word,  in  this  instance, 
she  was  ready  to  break  the  engagement. 

"  It  will  probably  have  to  be  as  you  wish," 
said  Gudmund.  He  did  not  feel  that  he  could 
jeopardize  his  whole  future  for  Helga's  sake, 
but  he  was  very  pale  when  he  acquiesced,  and 
he  was  silent  and  low-spirited  the  entire  evening. 

It  was  this  which  had  caused  Gudmund  to 
fear  that  perhaps  Hildur  was  not  altogether 
what  he  had  fancied  her.  He  did  not  Uke,  I 
dare  say,  that  she  had  pitted  her  will  against  his. 
But  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  could  not  com- 
prehend anything  else  than  that  she  was  in  the 
wrong.  He  felt  that  he  would  willingly  have 
given  in  to  her  had  she  been  broad-minded,  but 
instead,  it  seemed  to  him,  she  was  only  petty 
and  heartless.  Once  his  doubts  were  awakened, 
it  was  not  long  before  he  perceived  one  thing 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     53 

and  another  which  were  not  as  he  wished. 
"  Doubtless  she  is  one  of  those  who  think  first 
and  foremost  of  themselves,"  he  muttered 
every  time  he  parted  from  her,  and  he  wondered 
how  long  her  love  for  him  would  last  if  it  were 
put  to  the  test.  He  tried  to  console  himself 
with  the  idea  that  all  people  thought  of  them- 
selves first,  but  instantly  Helga  flashed  into  his 
mind.  He  saw  her  as  she  stood  in  the  court 
room  and  snatched  the  Bible,  and  heard  how 
she  cried  out:  "  I  withdraw  the  suit.  I  am  still 
fond  of  him  and  I  don't  want  him  to  swear 
falsely."  It  was  thus  he  would  have  Hildur. 
Helga  had  become  for  him  a  standard  by  which 
he  measured  people.  Though  certainly  there 
were  many  who  were  equal  to  her  in  affection! 

Day  by  day  he  thought  less  of  Hildur,  but  it 
did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  should  relinquish 
his  prospective  bride.  He  tried  to  imagine  his 
discouragement  was  simply  an  idle  whim.  Only 
a  few  weeks  ago  he  regarded  her  as  the  best  in 
the  world ! 

Had  this  been  at  the  beginning  of  the  court- 
ship, he  would  have  withdrawn,  perhaps,  but 
now  the  banns  were  already  published  and  the 
wedding  day  fLxed,  and  in  his  home  they  had 
begun  repairing  and  rebuilding.  Nor  did  he 
wish  to  forfeit  the  wealth  and  the  good  social 


54     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

position  which  awaited  him.  What  excuse 
could  he  offer  for  breaking  the  engagement? 
That  which  he  had  to  bring  against  Hildur  was 
so  inconsequential  that  it  would  have  turned 
to  air  on  his  Hps  had  he  attempted  to  express  it. 

But  the  heart  of  him  was  often  heavy,  and 
every  time  he  had  an  errand  down  to  the  parish 
or  the  city  he  bought  ale  or  wine  at  the  shops  to 
drink  himself  into  a  good  humor.  When  he  had 
emptied  a  couple  of  bottles,  he  was  again  proud 
of  the  marriage  and  pleased  with  Hildur.  Then 
he  did  n't  understand  what  it  was  that  pained 
him. 

Gudmund  often  thought  of  Helga  and  longed 
to  meet  her.  But  he  fancied  that  Helga  believed 
him  a  wretch  because  he  had  not  kept  the  prom- 
ise which  he  voluntarily  made  her,  but  had  al- 
lowed her  to  go  away.  He  could  neither  explain 
nor  excuse  himself,  therefore  he  avoided  her. 

One  morning,  when  Gudmund  was  walking 
up  the  road,  he  met  Helga,  who  had  been  down 
in  the  village  to  buy  milk.  Gudmund  turned 
about  and  joined  her. 

She  did  n't  appear  to  be  pleased  with  his  com- 
pany and  walked  rapidly,  as  if  she  wished  to  get 
away  from  him,  and  said  nothing.  Gudmund, 
too,  kept  still  because  he  did  n't  quite  know 
how  he  should  begin  the  conversation. 


THE  GIRL   FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     5$ 

A  vehicle  was  seen  on  the  road,  far  be- 
hind. Gudmund  was  absorbed  in  thought  and 
did  not  mark  it,  but  Helga  had  seen  it  and 
turned  abruptly  to  him:  "It  is  not  worth  your 
while  to  be  in  my  company,  Gudmund,  for,  un- 
less I  see  wrongly,  it  is  the  Juryman  from  Al- 
vakra  and  his  daughter  who  come  driving  back 
there." 

Gudmund  glanced  up  quickly,  recognized  the 
horse,  and  made  a  movement  as  if  to  turn  back; 
but  the  next  instant  he  straightened  up  and 
walked  calmly  at  Helga's  side  until  the  vehicle 
had  passed.  Then  he  slackened  his  pace.  Helga 
continued  to  walk  rapidly,  and  they  parted  com- 
pany without  his  having  said  a  word  to  her.  But 
all  that  day  he  was  better  satisfied  with  himself 
than  he  had  been  in  a  long  while. 

V 

It  was  decided  that  Gudmund  and  Hildur's 
wedding  should  be  celebrated  at  Alvakra  the 
day  following  Palm  Sunday.  On  the  Friday 
before,  Gudmund  drove  to  town  to  make  some 
purchases  for  the  home-coming  banquet,  which 
was  to  be  held  at  Narlunda  the  day  after  the 
wedding.  In  the  village  he  happened  across  a 
number  of  young  men  from  his  parish.     They 


56     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

knew  it  was  his  last  trip  to  the  city  before  the 
marriage  and  made  it  the  occasion  for  a  carouse. 
All  insisted  that  Gudmund  must  drink,  and  they 
succeeded  finally  in  getting  him  thoroughly 
intoxicated. 

He  came  home  on  Saturday  morning  so  late 
that  his  father  and  the  men  servants  had  already 
gone  out  to  their  work,  and  he  slept  on  until 
late  in  the  afternoon.  When  he  arose  and  was 
going  to  dress  himself,  he  noticed  that  his  coat 
was  torn  in  several  places.  "It  looks  as  though 
I  had  been  in  a  fight  last  night,"  said  he,  trying 
to  recall  what  he  had  been  up  to.  He  remem- 
bered this  much:  he  had  left  the  public  tavern 
at  eleven  o'clock  in  company  with  his  comrades; 
but  where  they  had  gone  afterwards,  he  could  n't 
remember.  It  was  Uke  trying  to  peer  into  a 
great  darkness.  He  did  not  know  if  they  had 
only  driven  around  on  the  streets  or  if  they  had 
been  in  somebody's  home.  He  did  n't  remem- 
ber whether  he  or  some  one  else  had  harnessed 
the  horse  and  had  no  recollection  whatever  of  the 
drive  home. 

When  he  came  into  the  living-room  of  the 
cottage,  it  was  scoured  and  arranged  for  the  oc- 
casion. All  work  was  over  for  the  day,  and  the 
household  were  having  coffee.  No  one  spoke  of 
Gudmund's  trip.     It  seemed  to  be  a  matter 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     57 

agreed  upon  that  he  should  have  the  freedom  of 
living  as  he  chose  these  last  weeks. 

Gudmund  sat  down  at  the  table  and  had  his 
coffee  like  the  others.  As  he  sat  pouring  it  from 
the  cup  into  the  saucer  and  back  into  the  cup 
again  to  let  it  cool,  mother  Ingeborg,  who  had 
finished  with  hers,  took  up  the  newspaper,  which 
had  just  arrived,  and  began  reading.  She  read 
aloud  column  after  column,  and  Gudmund,  his 
father,  and  the  rest  sat  and  listened. 

Among  other  things  which  she  read,  there  was 
an  account  of  a  fight  that  had  taken  place  the 
night  before,  on  the  big  square,  between  a  gang 
of  drunken  farmers  and  some  laborers.  As  soon 
as  the  police  turned  up,  the  fighters  fled,  but  one 
of  them  lay  dead  on  the  square.  The  man  was 
carried  to  the  poUce  station,  and  when  no  out- 
ward injury  was  found  on  him,  they  had  tried  to 
resuscitate  him.  But  all  attempts  had  been  in 
vain,  and  at  last  they  discovered  that  a  knife- 
blade  was  imbedded  in  the  skull.  It  was  the 
blade  of  an  uncommonly  large  clasp-knife  that 
had  pierced  the  brain  and  was  broken  off  close 
to  the  head.  The  murderer  had  fled  with  the 
knife-handle,  but  as  the  police  knew  perfectly 
well  who  had  been  in  the  fight,  they  had  hopes 
of  soon  finding  him. 

While    mother    Ingeborg    was    reading    this, 


58     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

Gudmund  set  down  the  coffee-cup,  stuck  his 
hand  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  clasp-knife,  and 
glanced  at  it  carelessly.  But  almost  immedi- 
ately he  started,  turned  the  knife  over,  and 
poked  it  into  his  pocket  as  quickly  as  though  it 
had  burned  him.  He  did  not  touch  the  coffee 
after  that,  but  sat  a  long  while,  perfectly  still, 
with  a  puzzled  expression  on  his  face.  His 
brows  were  contracted,  and  it  was  apparent  that 
he  was  trying  with  all  his  might  to  think  out 
something. 

Finally  he  stood  up,  stretched  himself, 
yawned,  and  walked  leisurely  toward  the  door. 
*'I  '11  have  to  bestir  myself.  I  have  n't  been  out 
of  doors  all  day,"  he  said,  leaving  the  room. 

About  the  same  time  Erland  Erlandsson  also 
arose.  He  had  smoked  out  his  pipe,  and  now  he 
went  into  the  side  room  to  get  some  tobacco.  As 
he  was  standing  in  there,  refilhng  his  pipe,  he  saw 
Gudmund  walking  along.  The  windows  of  the 
side  room  did  not,  like  those  of  the  main  room, 
face  the  yard,  but  looked  out  upon  a  little  gar- 
den plot  with  a  couple  of  tall  apple  trees.  Be- 
yond the  plot  lay  a  bit  of  swamp  land  where  in 
the  spring  of  the  year  there  were  big  pools  of 
water,  but  which  were  almost  dried  out  in  the 
summer.  Toward  this  side  it  was  seldom  that 
any  one  went.     Erland  Erlandsson  wondered 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     59 

what  Gudmund  was  doing  there,  and  followed 
him  with  his  eyes.  Then  he  saw  that  the  son 
stuck  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  some 
object,  and  flung  it  away  in  the  morass.  There- 
upon he  walked  back  across  the  Uttle  garden 
plot,  leaped  a  fence,  and  went  down  the  road. 

As  soon  as  his  son  was  out  of  sight,  Erland,  in 
his  turn,  betook  himself,  as  he  should  have 
done,  to  the  swamp.  He  waded  out  into  the 
mire,  bent  down,  and  picked  up  something  his 
foot  had  touched.  It  was  a  large  clasp-knife 
with  the  biggest  blade  broken  off.  He  turned  it 
over  and  over  and  examined  it  carefully  while 
he  still  stood  in  the  water.  Then  he  put  it  into 
his  pocket,  but  he  took  it  out  again  and  looked 
at  it  before  returning  to  the  house. 

Gudmund  did  not  come  home  until  the  house- 
hold had  retired.  He  went  immediately  to  bed 
without  touching  his  supper,  which  was  spread 
in  the  main  room. 

Erland  Erlandsson  and  his  wife  slept  in  the 
side  room.  At  daybreak  Erland  thought  he 
heard  footsteps  outside  the  window.  He  got  up, 
drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  saw  Gudmund  walk- 
ing down  to  the  swamp.  He  stripped  off  stock- 
ings and  shoes  and  waded  out  into  the  water, 
tramping  back  and  forth,  like  one  who  is  search- 
ing for  something.    He  kept  this  up  for  a  long 


6o     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT  ^ 

while,  then  he  walked  back  to  dry  land,  as  if  he 
intended  to  go  away,  but  soon  turned  back  to 
resume  his  search.  A  whole  hour  his  father 
stood  watching  him.  Then  Gudmund  went 
back  to  the  house  again  and  to  bed. 

On  Palm  Sunday  Gudmund  was  to  drive  to 
church.  As  he  started  to  hitch  up  the  horse,  his 
father  came  out.  "You  have  forgotten  to  polish 
the  harness  to-day,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  by; 
for  both  harness  and  cart  were  muddy. 

"I  have  had  other  things  to  think  of,"  said 
Gudmund  Hstlessly,  and  drove  off  without 
doing  anything  in  the  matter. 

After  the  service  Gudmund  accompanied  his 
betrothed  to  Alvakra  and  remained  there  all 
day.  A  number  of  young  people  came  to  cele- 
brate Hildiir's  last  evening  as  a  maid,  and  there 
was  dancing  till  far  into  the  night.  Intoxicants 
were  plentiful,  but  Gudmund  did  not  touch 
them.  The  whole  evening  he  had  scarcely 
spoken  a  word  to  any  one,  but  he  danced  wildly 
and  laughed  at  times,  loudly  and  stridently, 
without  any  one's  knowing  what  he  was  so 
amused  over. 

Gudmund  did  not  come  home  until  about 
two  in  the  morning,  and  when  he  had  stabled 
the  horse  he  went  down  to  the  swamp  back  of 
the  house.    He  took  off  his  shoes  and  stockings, 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     6r 

rolled  up  his  trousers,  and  waded  into  the  water 
and  mud.  It  was  a  light  spring  night,  and  his 
father  was  standing  in  the  side  room  behind  the 
curtain,  watching  his  son.  He  saw  how  he 
walked  bending  over  the  water  and  searching  as 
on  the  previous  night.  He  went  up  on  land  be- 
tween times,  but  after  a  moment  or  two  he 
would  wade  again  through  the  mud.  Once  he 
went  and  fetched  a  bucket  from  the  bam  and 
began  dipping  water  from  the  pools,  as  if  he  in- 
tended to  drain  them,  but  really  found  it  un- 
profitable and  set  the  bucket  aside.  He  tried 
also  with  a  pole-net.  He  ploughed  through  the 
entire  swamp-ground  with  it,  but  seemed  to 
bring  up  nothing  but  mud.  He  did  not  go  in 
until  the  morning  was  so  well  on  that  the  people 
in  the  house  were  beginning  to  bestir  themselves. 
Then  he  was  so  tired  and  spent  that  he  staggered 
as  he  walked,  and  he  flung  himself  upon  the  bed 
without  undressing 

When  the  clock  struck  eight,  his  father  came 
and  waked  him,  Gudmund  lay  upon  the  bed, 
his  clothing  covered  with  mud  and  clay,  but  his 
father  did  not  ask  what  he  had  been  doing.  He 
simply  said,  "It  is  time  now  to  get  up,"  and 
closed  the  door. 

After  a  while  Gudmund  came  down  stairs, 
dressed  in  his  wedding  clothes.    He  was  pale,  and 


62     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

his  eyes  wore  a  troubled  expression,  but  no  one 
had  ever  seen  him  look  so  handsome.  His 
features  were  as  if  illumined  by  an  inner  light. 
One  felt  that  one  was  looking  upon  something 
no  longer  made  up  of  flesh  and  blood,  —  only 
of  soul  and  will. 

It  was  solemnly  ceremonious  down  in  the 
main  room.  His  mother  was  in  black,  and  she 
had  thrown  a  pretty  silk  shawl  across  her  shoul- 
ders, although  she  was  not  to  be  at  the  wedding. 
Fresh  birch  leaves  were  arranged  in  the  fire- 
place. The  table  was  spread,  and  there  was  a 
great  quantity  of  food. 

When  they  had  breakfasted,  mother  Ingeborg 
read  a  h3nTin  and  something  from  the  Bible. 
Then  she  turned  to  Gudmund,  thanked  him  for 
having  been  a  good  son,  wished  him  happiness 
in  his  new  life,  and  gave  him  her  blessing. 
Mother  Ingeborg  could  arrange  her  words  well, 
and  Gudmund  was  deeply  moved.  The  tears 
welled  to  his  eyes  time  and  again,  but  he  man- 
aged to  choke  them  back.  His  father,  too,  said 
a  few  words.  "It  will  be  hard  for  your  parents 
to  lose  you,"  he  said,  and  again  Gudmund  came 
near  breaking  down.  All  the  servants  came  for- 
ward and  shook  hands  with  him  and  thanked 
him  for  the  past.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  all  the 
while.     He  pulled  himself  together  and  made 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     63 

several  attempts  to  speak,  but  could  scarcely 
get  a  word  past  his  lips. 

His  father  was  to  accompany  him  to  the  wed- 
ding and  be  one  of  the  party.  He  went  out  and 
harnessed  the  horse,  after  which  he  came  back 
and  announced  that  it  was  time  to  start.  When 
Gudmund  was  seated  in  the  cart,  he  noticed  that 
it  was  cleansed  and  burnished.  Everything  was 
as  bright  and  shiny  as  he  himself  always  wished 
it  to  be.  At  the  same  time  he  saw,  also,  how 
neat  everything  about  the  place  looked.  The 
driveway  had  been  laid  with  new  gravel;  piles 
of  old  wood  and  rubbish,  which  had  lain  there 
all  his  hfe,  were  removed.  On  each  side  of  the 
entrance  door  stood  a  birch  branch,  as  a  gate  of 
honor.  A  large  wreath  of  blueberry  hung  on  the 
weather-vane,  and  from  every  aperture  peeped 
light  green  birch-leaves.  Again  Gudmund  was 
ready  to  burst  into  tears.  He  grasped  his 
father's  hand  hard  when  he  was  about  to  start; 
it  was  as  though  he  wished  to  prevent  his 
going. 

''Is  there  something — ?"   said  the  father. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Gudmund.  "It  is  best,  I 
dare  say,  that  we  go  ahead." 

Gudmund  had  to  say  one  more  farewell  be- 
fore he  was  very  far  from  the  homestead.  It  was 
Helga  from  Big  Marsh,  who  stood  waiting  at 


64     THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT 

the  hedge,  where  the  foliage  path  leading  from 
her  home  opened  into  the  highway.  The  father 
was  driving  and  stopped  when  he  saw  Helga. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you,  as  I  wanted  to 
wish  you  happiness  to-day,"  said  Helga, 

Gudmund  leaned  far  out  over  the  cart  and 
shook  hands  with  Helga.  He  thought  that  she 
had  grown  thin  and  that  her  eyelids  were  red. 
Very  probably  she  had  lain  awake  and  cried  all 
night  and  was  homesick  for  Narlunda.  But  now 
she  tried  to  appear  happy  and  smiled  sweetly  at 
him.  Again  he  felt  deeply  moved  but  could  not 
speak. 

His  father,  who  was  reputed  never  to  speak  a 
word  until  it  was  called  forth  by  extreme  neces- 
sity, joined  in:  "That  good  wish,  I  think, 
Gudmund  will  be  more  glad  over  than  any 
other." 

"Yes,  of  that  you  may  be  sure!"  said  Gud- 
mund. He  shook  hands  with  Helga  once  more, 
and  then  they  drove  on. 

Gudmund  leaned  back  in  the  cart  and  looked 
after  Helga.  When  she  was  hidden  from  view 
by  a  couple  of  trees,  he  hastily  tore  aside  the 
apron  of  the  carriage,  as  if  he  wished  to  jump 
out. 

"Is  there  anything  more  you  wish  to  say  to 
Helga?"   asked  his  father. 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     65 

"No,  oh,  no!"  answered  Gudmund  and 
turned  round  again. 

Suddenly  Gudmund  leaned  his  head  against 
his  father's  shoulder  and  burst  out  crying. 

"What  ails  you?"  asked  Erland  Erlandsson, 
drawing  in  the  reins  so  suddenly  that  the  horse 
stopped 

" Oh). they  are  all  so  good  to  me  and  I  don't 
deserve  it." 

"But  you  have  never  done  anything  wrong, 
surely?" 

"Yes,  father,  I  have." 

"That  we  can't  believe." 

"I  have  killed  a  human  being!" 

The  father  drew  a  deep  breath.  It  sounded 
almost  like  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  Gudmund  raised 
his  head,  astonished,  and  looked  at  him.  His 
father  set  the  horse  in  motion  again;  then  he 
said  calmly,  "I'm  glad  you  have  told  of  this 
yourself." 

"Did  you  know  it  already,  father?" 

"I  surmised  last  Saturday  evening  that  there 
was  something  wrong.  And  then  I  found  your 
knife  down  in  the  morass." 

"So  it  was  you  who  found  the  knife!" 

"I  found  it  and  I  noticed  that  one  of  the  blades 
had  been  broken  off." 

"Yes,  father,  I  'm  aware  that  the  knife-blade 

5 


66     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

is  gone,  but  still  I  cannot  get  it  into  my  head  that 
I  did  it." 

"It  was  probably  done  in  the  drunkenness  and 
delirium." 

"I  know  nothing;  I  remember  nothing.  I 
could  see  by  my  clothes  that  I  had  been  in  a 
fight  and  I  knew  that  the  knife-blade  was 
missing." 

"I  understand  that  it  was  your  intention  to 
be  silent  about  this,"  said  the  father, 

"I  thought  that  perhaps  the  rest  of  the  party 
were  as  irresponsible  as  myself  and  /  could  n't 
remember  anything.  There  was  perhaps  no 
other  evidence  against  me  than  the  knife,  there- 
fore I  threw  it  away." 

"I  comprehend  that  you  must  have  reasoned 
in  that  way." 

"You  understand,  father,  that  I  do  not  know 
who  is  dead.  I  had  never  seen  him  before,  I 
dare  say.  I  have  no  recollection  of  having  done 
it.  I  did  n't  think  I  ought  to  suffer  for  what  I 
had  not  done  knowingly.  But  soon  I  got  to 
thinking  that  I  must  have  been  mad  to  throw 
the  knife  into  the  marsh.  It  dries  out  in  sum- 
mer, and  then  any  one  might  find  it.  I  tried  last 
night  and  the  night  before  to  find  it." 

"Didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  you  should 
confess?" 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     67 

"No!  Yesterday  I  thought  only  of  how  I 
could  keep  it  a  secret,  and  I  tried  to  dance  and 
be  merry,  so  that  no  one  would  mark  any 
change  in  me." 

"Was  it  your  intention  to  go  to  the  bridal 
altar  to-day  without  confessing?  You  were  as- 
suming a  grave  responsibility.  Did  n't  you  un- 
derstand that  if  you  were  discovered  you  would 
drag  Hildur  and  her  kin  with  you  into  misery?" 

"I  thought  that  I  was  sparing  them  most  by 
saying  nothing." 

They  drove  now  as  fast  as  possible.  The 
father  seemed  to  be  in  haste  to  arrive,  and  all 
the  time  he  talked  with  his  son.  He  had  not 
said  so  much  to  him  in  all  his  life  before. 

"  I  wonder  how  you  came  to  think  differently?  " 
said  he. 

"It  was  because  Helga  came  and  wished  me 
luck.  Then  there  was  something  hard  in  me  that 
broke.  I  was  touched  by  something  in  her. 
Mother,  also,  moved  me  this  morning,  and  I 
wanted  to  speak  out  and  tell  her  that  I  was  not 
worthy  of  your  love ;  but  then  the  hardness  was 
still  within  me  and  made  resistance.  But  when 
Helga  appeared,  it  was  all  over  with  me.  I  felt 
that  she  really  ought  to  be  angry  with  me  who 
was  to  blame  for  her  having  to  leave  our  home." 

"Now  I  think  you  are  agreed  with  me  that  we 


68     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

must  let  the  Juryman  know  this  at  once,"  said 
the  father. 

"Yes,"  answered  Gudmund  in  a  low  tone. 
"Why,  certainly!"  he  added  almost  imme- 
diately after,  louder  and  firmer.  "I  don't  want 
to  drag  Hildur  into  my  misfortune.  This  she 
would  never  forgive  me." 

"  The  Alvakra  folk  are  jealous  of  their  honor, 
like  the  rest,"  remarked  the  father.  "And  you 
may  as  well  know,  Gudmund,  that  when  I  left 
home  this  morning  I  was  thinking  that  I  must 
tell  the  Juryman  your  position  if  you  did  not  de- 
cide to  do  so  yourself.  I  never  could  have  stood 
silently  by  and  let  Hildur  marry  a  man  who  at 
any  moment  might  be  accused  of  murder." 

He  cracked  the  whip  and  drove  on,  faster  and 
faster.  "This  will  be  the  hardest  thing  for  you," 
said  he,  "but  we  '11  try  and  have  it  over  with 
quickly.  I  believe  that,  to  the  Juryman's  mind, 
it  will  be  right  for  you  to  give  yourself  up,  and 
they  will  be  kind  to  you,  no  doubt." 

Gudmund  said  nothing.  His  torture  increased 
the  nearer  they  approached  Alvakra.  The 
father  continued  talking  to  keep  up  his  courage. 

"I  have  heard  something  of  this  sort  before," 
said  he.  "There  was  a  bridegroom  once  who 
happened  to  shoot  a  comrade  to  death  during  a 
hunt.    He  did  not  do  it  intentionally,  and  it  was 


THE  GIRL  FROM    THE  MARSH  CROFT     69 

not  discovered  that  he  was  the  one  who  had 
fired  the  fatal  shot.  But  a  day  or  two  later  he 
was  to  be  married,  and  when  he  came  to  the 
home  of  the  bride,  he  went  to  her  and  said: 
'The  marriage  cannot  take  place.  I  do  not  care 
to  drag  you  into  the  misery  which  awaits  me.' 
But  she  stood,  dressed  in  bridal  wreath  and 
crown,  and  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him 
into  the  drawing-room,  where  the  guests  were 
assembled  and  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  cere- 
mony. She  related  in  a  clear  voice  what  the 
bridegroom  had  just  said  to  her.  'I  have  told  of 
this,  that  all  may  know  you  have  practised  no 
deceit  on  me.'  Then  she  turned  to  the  bride- 
groom. 'Now  I  want  to  be  married  to  you  at 
once.  You  are  what  you  are,  even  though  you 
have  met  with  misfortune,  and  whatever  awaits 
you,  I  want  to  share  it  equally  with  you.'" 

Just  as  the  father  had  finished  the  narrative, 
they  were  on  the  long  avenue  leading  to  Alvakra. 
Gudmund  turned  to  him  with  a  melancholy 
smile.    "It  will  not  end  thus  for  us,"  he  said. 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  father,  straighten- 
ing in  the  cart.  He  looked  upon  his  son  and  was 
again  astonished  at  his  beauty  this  day.  "It 
would  not  surprise  me  if  something  great  and 
unexpected  were  to  come  to  him,"  thought  he. 

There  was  to  have  been  a  church  ceremony, 


70     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

and  already  a  crowd  of  people  were  gathered  at 
the  bride's  home  to  join  in  the  wedding  proces- 
sion. A  number  of  the  Juryman's  relatives  from 
a  distance  had  also  arrived.  They  were  sitting 
on  the  porch  in  their  best  attire,  ready  for  the 
drive  to  church.  Carts  and  carriages  were  strung 
out  in  the  yard,  and  one  could  hear  the  horses 
stamping  in  the  stable  as  they  were  being  cur- 
ried. The  parish  fiddler  sat  on  the  steps  of  the 
storehouse  alone,  tuning  his  fiddle.  At  a  win- 
dow in  the  upper  story  of  the  cottage  stood  the 
bride,  dressed  and  waiting  to  have  a  peep  at  the 
bridegroom  before  he  had  time  to  discover  her. 

Erland  and  Gudmund  stepped  from  the  car- 
riage and  asked  immediately  for  a  private  con- 
ference with  Hildur  and  her  parents.  Soon  they 
were  all  standing  in  the  Httle  room  which  the 
Juryman  used  as  his  study. 

"I  think  you  must  have  read  in  the  papers  of 
that  fight  in  town  last  Saturday  night,  where  a 
man  was  killed,"  said  Gudmund,  as  rapidly  as  if 
he  were  repeating  a  lesson. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  've  read  about  it,  of  course,"  said 
the  Juryman. 

"I  happened  to  be  in  town  that  night,"  con- 
tinued Gudmund.  Now  there  was  no  response. 
It  was  as  still  as  death.  Gudmund  thought  they 
all  glared  at  him  with  such  fury  that  he  was  im- 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     71 

able  to  continue.  But  his  father  came  to  his 
aid. 

"Gudmund  had  been  invited  out  by  a  few 
friends.  He  had  probably  drunk  too  much  that 
night,  and  when  he  came  home  he  did  not  know 
what  he  had  been  doing.  But  it  was  apparent 
that  he  had  been  in  a  fight,  for  his  clothes  were 
torn." 

Gudmund  saw  that  the  dread  which  the  others 
felt  increased  with  every  word  that  was  said, 
but  he  himself  was  growing  calmer.  There 
awoke  in  him  a  sense  of  defiance,  and  he  took 
up  the  words  again:  **\Vhen  the  paper  came  on 
Saturday  evening  and  I  read  of  the  fight  and  of 
the  knife-blade  which  was  imbedded  in  the  man's 
skull,  I  took  out  my  knife  and  saw  that  a  blade 


was  missing." 


"It  is  bad  news  that  Gudmund  brings  with 
him,"  said  the  Jur^Tnan.  "It  would  have  been 
better  had  he  told  us  of  this  yesterday." 

Gudmund  was  silent;  and  now  his  father  came 
to  the  rescue  again.  "It  was  not  so  easy  for 
Gudmund.  It  was  a  great  temptation  to  keep 
quiet  about  the  whole  affair.  He  is  losing  much 
by  this  confession." 

"We  may  be  glad  that  he  has  spoken  now,  and 
that  we  have  not  been  tricked  and  dragged  into 
this  wretched  affair,"  said  the  Juryman  bitterly. 


72     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT^ 

Gudmund  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Hildur  all  the 
while.  She  was  adorned  with  veil  and  crown, 
and  now  he  saw  how  she  raised  her  hand  and 
drew  out  one  of  the  large  pins  which  held  the 
crown  in  place.  She  seemed  to  do  this  uncon- 
sciously. When  she  observed  that  Gudmund 's 
glance  rested  upon  her,  she  stuck  the  pin  in 
again. 

"It  is  not  yet  fully  proved  that  Gudmund  is 
the  slayer,"  said  his  father,  ''but  I  can  well 
understand  that  you  wish  the  wedding  post- 
poned until  everything  has  been  cleared 
up." 

"It  is  not  worth  while  to  talk  of  postpone- 
ment," said  the  Juryman.  "I  think  that  Gud- 
mund's  case  is  clear  enough  for  us  to  decide  that 
all  is  over  between  him  and  Hildur  now." 

Gudmund  did  not  at  once  reply  to  this  judg- 
ment. He  walked  over  to  his  betrothed  and  put 
out  his  hand.  She  sat  perfectly  still  and  seemed 
not  to  see  him.  "Won't  you  say  farewell  to  me, 
Hildur?" 

Then  she  looked  up,  and  her  large  eyes  stared 
coldly  at  him.  "Was  it  with  that  hand  you 
guided  the  knife?"   she  asked. 

Gudmvmd  did  not  answer  her,  but  turned  to 
the  Juryman.  "Now  I  am  sure  of  my  case,"  he 
said.    "It  is  useless  to  talk  of  a  wedding." 


THE  GIRL   FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     73 

With  this  the  conference  was  ended,  and 
Gudmund  and  Erland  went  their  way. 

They  had  to  pass  through  a  number  of  rooms 
and  corridors  before  they  came  out,  and  every- 
where they  saw  preparations  for  the  wedding. 
The  door  leading  to  the  kitchen  was  open,  and 
they  saw  many  bustling  about  in  eager  haste. 
The  smell  of  roasts  and  of  baking  penetrated  the 
air;  the  whole  fireplace  was  covered  with  large 
and  small  pots  and  pans,  and  the  copper  sauce- 
pans, which  usually  decorated  the  walls,  were 
down  and  in  use.  "Fancy,  it  is  for  my  wedding 
that  they  are  puttering  like  this!"  thought 
Gudmund,  as  he  was  passing. 

He  caught  a  glimpse,  so  to  speak,  of  all  the 
wealth  of  this  old  peasant  estate  as  he  wandered 
through  the  house.  He  saw  the  dining-hall,  where 
the  long  tables  were  set  with  a  long  row  of  silver 
goblets  and  decanters.  He  passed  by  the 
clothes-press,  where  the  floor  was  covered  with 
great  chests  and  where  the  walls  were  hung  with 
an  endless  array  of  wearing  apparel.  When  he 
came  out  in  the  yard,  he  saw  many  vehicles,  old 
and  new,  and  fine  horses  being  led  out  from  the 
stable,  and  gorgeous  carriage  robes  placed  in  the 
carriages.  He  looked  out  across  a  couple  of  farms 
with  cow-sheds,  barns,  sheep-folds,  storehouses, 
sheds,  larders,  and  many  other  buildings.    "All 


74     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

this  might  have  been  mine,"  he  thought,  as  he 
seated  himself  in  the  cart. 

Suddenly  he  was  seized  with  a  sense  of  bitteF 
regret.  He  would  have  Uked  to  throw  himself 
out  of  the  cart  and  go  in  and  say  that  what  he 
had  told  them  was  not  true.  He  had  only 
wished  to  joke  with  them  and  frighten  them. 
It  was  awfully  stupid  of  him  to  confess.  Of  what 
use  had  it  been  to  him  to  confess?  The  dead  was 
dead.  No,  this  confession  carried  nothing  with 
it  save  his  ruin. 

These  last  weeks  he  had  not  been  very  enthu- 
siastic over  this  marriage.  But  now,  when  he 
must  renounce  it,  he  realized  what  it  was  worth 
to  him.  It  meant  much  to  lose  Hildur  Erics- 
dotter  and  all  that  went  with  her.  What  did  it 
matter  that  she  was  domineering  and  opinion- 
ated? She  was  still  the  peer  of  all  in  these  re- 
gions, and  through  her  he  would  have  come  by 
great  power  and  honor. 

It  was  not  only  Hildur  and  her  possessions  he 
was  missing,  but  minor  things  as  well.  At  this 
moment  he  should  have  been  driving  to  the 
church,  and  all  who  looked  upon  him  would  have 
envied  him.  And  it  was  to-day  that  he  should 
have  sat  at  the  head  of  the  wedding  table  and 
been  in  the  thick  of  the  dancing  and  the  gayety. 
It  was  his  great  luck-day  that  was  going  from 
him. 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     75 

Erland  turned  time  and  again  to  his  son  and 
looked  at  him.  Now  he  was  not  so  handsome  or 
transfigured  as  he  had  been  in  the  morning,  but 
sat  there  Ustless  and  heavy  and  dull-eyed.  The 
father  wondered  if  the  son  regretted  having  con- 
fessed and  meant  to  question  him  about  it,  but 
thought  it  best  to  be  silent. 

"Where  are  we  driving  to  now?"  asked  Gud- 
mund  presently.  "Would  n't  it  be  as  well  to  go 
at  once  to  the  sheriff?" 

"You  had  better  go  home  first  and  have 
a  good  sleep,"  said  the  father.  "You  have 
not  had  much  sleep  these  last  nights,  I  dare 
say." 

"Mother  will  be  frightened  when  she  sees  us." 

"She  won't  be  surprised,"  answered  the  father, 
"for  she  knows  quite  as  much  as  I  do.  She  will 
be  glad,  of  course,  that  you  have  confessed." 

"I  beheve  mother  and  the  rest  of  you  at 
home  are  glad  to  get  me  into  prison,"  snarled 
Gudmimd. 

"We  know  that  you  are  losing  a  good  deal 
in  acting  rightly,"  said  the  father.  "We  can't 
help  but  be  glad  because  you  have  conquered 
yourself." 

Gudmund  felt  that  he  could  not  endure  going 
home  and  ha\ing  to  listen  to  all  who  would  com- 
mend him  because  he  had  spoiled  his  future. 


76     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

He  sought  some  excuse  that  he  might  escape 
meeting  any  one  until  he  had  recovered  his  poise. 
Then  they  drove  by  the  place  where  the  path  led 
to  Big  Marsh.  "Will  you  stop  here,  father?  I 
think  I  '11  run  up  to  see  Helga  and  have  a  talk 
with  her." 

Willingly  the  father  reined  in  the  horse. 
"Only  come  home  as  quickly  as  you  can,  that 
you  may  rest  yourself,"  said  he. 

Gudmund  went  into  the  woods  and  was  soon 
out  of  sight.  He  did  not  think  of  seeking  Helga; 
he  was  only  thinking  of  being  alone,  so  that  he 
would  n't  have  to  control  himself.  He  felt  an 
unreasonable  anger  toward  everything,  kicked 
at  stones  that  lay  in  his  path,  and  paused  some- 
times to  break  off  a  big  branch  only  because  a 
leaf  had  brushed  his  cheek. 

He  followed  the  path  to  Big  Marsh,  but  walked 
past  the  croft  and  up  the  hill  which  lay  above 
it.  He  had  wandered  off  the  path,  and  in  order 
to  reach  the  hill-top  he  must  cross  a  broad  ridge 
of  sharp,  jagged  rocks.  It  was  a  hazardous 
tramp  over  the  sharp  rock  edges.  He  might  have 
broken  both  arms  and  legs  had  he  made  a  mis- 
step. He  understood  this  perfectly,  but  went  on 
as  if  it» amused  him  to  run  into  danger.  "If  I 
were  to  fall  and  hurt  myself,  no  one  can  find 
me  up  here,"  thought  he.    "What  of  it?    I  may 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     77 

as  well  die  here  as  to  sit  for  years  within  prison 
walls." 

All  went  well,  however,  and  a  few  moments 
later  he  was  up  on  High  Peak.  Once  a  forest 
fire  had  swept  the  mountain.  The  highest  point 
was  still  bare,  and  from  there  one  had  a  seven- 
mile  outlook.  He  saw  valleys  and  lakes,  dark 
forest  tracts  and  flourishing  towns,  churches 
and  manors,  little  woodland  crofts  and  large 
villages.  Far  in  the  distance  lay  the  city,  envel- 
oped in  a  white  haze  from  which  a  pair  of  gleam- 
ing spires  peeped  out.  Public  roads  wound 
through  the  valleys,  and  a  railway  train  was 
rushing  along  the  border  of  the  forest.  It  was  a 
whole  kingdom  that  he  saw. 

He  flung  himself  upon  the  ground,  all  the  while 
keeping  his  eyes  riveted  upon  the  vast  outlook. 
There  was  something  grand  and  majestic  about 
the  landscape  before  him,  which  made  him  feel 
himself  and  his  sorrows  small  and  insignificant. 

He  remembered  how,  when  a  child,  he  had  read 
that  the  tempter  led  Jesus  up  to  a  high  mountain 
and  showed  him  all  the  world's  glories,  and  he 
always  fancied  that  they  had  stood  up  here  on 
Great  Peak,  and  he  repeated  the  old  words: 
"All  these  things  will  I  give  thee  if  thou  wilt  fall 
down  and  worship  me." 

All  of  a  sudden  he  was  thinking  that  a  similar 


78     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

temptation  had  come  to  him  these  last  days. 
Certainly  the  tempter  had  not  borne  him  to  a 
high  mountain  and  shown  him  all  the  glories  and 
powers  of  this  world!  "Only  be  silent  about  the 
evil  which  you  think  you  have  done,"  said  he, 
"and  I  will  give  you  all  these  things." 

As  Gudmund  thought  on  this,  a  grain  of  satis- 
faction came  to  him.  "I  have  answered  no,"  he 
said,  and  suddenly  he  understood  what  it  had 
meant  for  him.  If  he  had  kept  silent,  would  he 
not  have  been  compelled  to  worship  the  tempter 
all  his  Ufe?  He  would  have  been  a  timid  and 
faint-hearted  man;  simply  a  slave  to  his  posses- 
sions. The  fear  of  discovery  would  always  have 
weighed  upon  him.  Nevermore  would  he  have 
felt  himself  a  free  man. 

A  great  peace  came  over  Gudmund.  He  was 
happy  in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  done 
right.  When  he  thought  back  to  the  past  days, 
he  felt  that  he  had  groped  his  way  out  of  a  great 
darkness.  It  was  wonderful  that  he  had  come 
out  right  finally.  He  asked  himself  how  he  had 
ever  happened  to  go  astray.  "It  was  because 
they  were  so  kind  to  me  at  home,"  he  thought, 
"and  the  best  help  was  that  Helga  came  and 
wished  me  happiness." 

He  lay  up  there  on  the  mountain  a  little  longer, 
but  presently  he  felt  that  he  must  go  home  to  his 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     79 

father  and  mother  and  tell  them  that  he  was  at 
peace  with  himself.  When  he  rose  to  go,  he  saw 
Helga  sitting  on  a  ledge  a  little  farther  down  the 
mountain. 

Where  she  sat,  she  had  not  the  big,  broad  out- 
look which  he  enjoyed ;  only  a  little  glint  of  the 
valley  was  visible  to  her.  This  was  in  the  direc- 
tion where  Narlunda  lay,  and  possibly  she  could 
see  a  portion  of  the  farm.  When  Gudmund  dis- 
covered her,  he  felt  that  his  heart,  which  all  the 
day  before  had  labored  heavily  and  anxiously, 
began  to  beat  lightly  and  merrily;  at  the  same 
time  such  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  him  that  he 
stood  still  and  marvelled  at  himself.  "What 
has  come  over  me?  What  is  this?"  he  won- 
dered, as  the  blood  surged  through  his  body  and 
happiness  gripped  him  with  a  force  that  was 
almost  painful.  At  last  he  said  to  himself  in 
a  surprised  tone:  ''Why,  it  is  she  that  I'm 
fond  of!  Think,  that  I  did  not  know  it  until 
now!" 

It  took  hold  of  him  with  the  strength  of  a 
loosened  torrent.  He  had  been  bound  the  whole 
time  he  knew  her.  All  that  had  drawn  him  to 
her  he  had  held  back.  Now,  at  last,  he  was  freed 
from  the  thought  of  marr^dng  some  one  else  — 
free  to  love  her. 

"Helga!"  he  cried,  rushing  down  the  steep  to 


8o     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

her.  She  turned  round  with  a  terrified  shriek. 
"Don't  be  frightened!    It  is  only  I." 

"But  are  you  not  at  church  being  married?" 

"No,  indeed!  There  will  be  no  wedding  to- 
day.   She  does  n't  want  me  —  she  —  Hildur." 

Helga  rose.  She  placed  her  hand  on  her  heart 
and  closed  her  eyes.  At  that  moment  she  must 
have  thought  it  was  not  Gudmund  who  had  come. 
It  must  be  that  her  eyes  and  ears  were  bewitched 
in  the  forest.  Yet  it  was  sweet  and  dear  of  him 
to  come,  if  only  in  a  vision !  She  closed  her  eyes 
and  stood  motionless  to  keep  this  vision  a  few 
seconds  longer. 

Gudmund  was  wild  and  dizzy  from  the  great 
love  that  had  flamed  up  in  him.  As  soon  as  he 
came  down  to  Helga,  he  threw  his  arms  around 
her  and  kissed  her,  and  she  let  it  happen,  for  she 
was  absolutely  stupefied  with  surprise.  It  was 
too  wonderful  to  believe  that  he,  who  should 
now  be  standing  in  church  beside  his  bride, 
actually  could  have  come  here  to  the  forest. 
This  phantom  or  ghost  of  him  that  had  come  to 
her  may  as  well  kiss  her. 

But  while  Gudmund  was  kissing  Helga,  she 
awoke  and  pushed  him  from  her.  She  began  to 
shower  him  with  questions.  Was  it  really  he? 
What  was  he  doing  in  the  forest?  Had  any  mis- 
fortune happened  to  him?   Why  was  the  wedding 


THE  GIRL  FRO.U   THE  MARSH  CROFT     8i 

postponed?  Was  Hildur  ill?  Did  the  clergy- 
man have  a  stroke  in  church? 

Gudmund  had  not  wished  to  talk  to  her  of 
anything  in  the  world  save  his  love,  but  she 
forced  him  to  tell  her  what  had  occurred.  While 
he  was  speaking  she  sat  still  and  listened  with 
rapt  attention. 

She  did  not  interrupt  him  until  he  mentioned 
the  broken  blade.  Then  she  leaped  up  suddenly 
and  asked  if  it  was  his  clasp-knife,  the  one  he  had 
when  she  served  with  them. 

"Yes,  it  was  just  that  one,"  said  he. 

"How  many  blades  were  broken  off?"  she 
asked. 

"Only  one,"  he  answered. 

Then  Helga's  head  began  working.  She  sat 
with  knit  brows  trying  to  recall  something. 
Wait !  Why,  certainly  she  remembered  distinctly 
that  she  had  borrowed  the  knife  from  him  to 
shave  wood  with  the  day  before  she  left.  She 
had  broken  it  then,  but  she  had  never  told  him 
of  it.  He  had  avoided  her,  and  at  that  time  he 
had  not  wished  to  hold  any  converse  with  her. 
And  of  course  the  knife  had  been  in  his  pocket 
ever  since  and  he  had  n't  noticed  that  it  was 
broken. 

She  raised  her  head  and  was  about  to  tell  him 
of  this,  but  he  went  on  talking  of  his  visit  that 

6 


82     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

morning  to  the  house  where  the  wedding  was  to 
have  been  celebrated,  and  she  wanted  to  let  him 
finish.  When  she  heard  how  he  had  parted  from 
Hildur,  she  thought  it  such  a  terrible  misfortune 
that  she  began  upbraiding  him.  "This  is  your 
own  fault,"  said  she.  "You  and  your  father 
came  and  frightened  the  Ufe  out  of  her  with  the 
shocking  news.  She  would  not  have  answered 
thus  had  she  been  mistress  of  herself.  I  want  to 
say  to  you  that  I  believe  she  regrets  it  at  this 
very  moment." 

"Let  her  regret  it  as  much  as  she  likes,  for  all 
of  me!"  said  Gudmund.  "I  know  now  that 
she  is  the  sort  who  thinks  only  of  herself.  I  am 
glad  I'm  rid  of  her!" 

Helga  pressed  her  lips,  as  if  to  keep  the  great 
secret  from  escaping.  There  was  much  for  her  to 
think  about.  It  was  more  than  a  question  of 
clearing  Gudmund  of  the  murder;  the  wretched 
affair  had  also  dragged  with  it  enmity  between 
Gudmund  and  his  sweetheart.  Perhaps  she 
might  try  to  adjust  this  matter  with  the  help 
of  what  she  knew. 

Again  she  sat  silent  and  pondered  until  Gud- 
mund began  telling  that  he  had  transferred  his 
affections  to  her. 

But  to  her  this  seemed  to  be  the  greatest  mis- 
fortime  he  had  met  with  that  day.    It  was  bad 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     83 

that  he  was  about  to  miss  the  advantageous 
marriage,  but  still  worse  were  he  to  woo  a  girl 
like  herself.  "No,  such  things  you  must  not  say 
to  me,"  she  said,  rising  abruptly, 

"Why  shouldn't  I  say  this  to  you?"  asked 
Gudmund,  turning  pale.  "  Perhaps  it  is  with  you 
as  with  Hildur  —  you  are  afraid  of  me?" 

"No,  that 's  not  the  reason." 

She  wanted  to  explain  how  he  was  seeking  his 
own  ruin,  but  he  was  not  listening  to  her.  "I 
have  heard  said  that  there  were  women-folk  in 
olden  times  who  stood  side  by  side  with  men 
when  they  were  in  trouble;  but  that  kind  one 
does  not  encounter  nowadays." 

A  tremor  passed  through  Helga.  She  could 
have  thrown  her  arms  around  his  neck,  but  re- 
mained perfectly  still.  To-day  it  was  she  who 
must  be  sensible. 

"True,  I  should  not  have  asked  you  to  be- 
come my  wife  on  the  day  that  I  must  go  to 
prison.  You  see,  if  I  only  knew  that  you  would 
wait  for  me  until  I  'm  free  again,  I  should  go 
through  all  the  hardship  with  courage.  Every 
one  will  now  regard  me  as  a  criminal,  as  one  who 
drinks  and  murders.  If  only  there  were  some 
one  who  could  think  of  me  with  affection!  — 
this  would  sustain  me  more  than  anything 
else." 


84     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 


tc 


'You  know,  surely,  that  I  shall  never  think 
anything  but  good  of  you,  Gudmund." 

Helga  was  so  still !  Gudmund's  entreaties  were 
becoming  almost  too  much  for  her.  She  did  n't 
know  how  she  should  escape  him.  He  appre- 
hended nothing  of  this,  but  began  thinking  he 
had  been  mistaken.  She  could  not  feel  toward 
him  as  he  did  toward  her.  He  came  very  close 
and  looked  at  her,  as  though  he  wanted  to  look 
through  her.  "Are  you  not  sitting  on  this  par- 
ticular ledge  of  the  mountain  that  you  may  look 
down  to  Narlunda?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't  you  long  night  and  day  to  be  there?" 

"Yes,  but  I  'm  not  longing  for  any  person." 

"And  you  don't  care  for  me?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  want  to  marry  you." 

"Whom  do  you  care  for,  then?" 

Helga  was  silent. 

"Is  it  Per  Martensson?" 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  I  liked  him," 
she  said,  exhausted  by  the  strain  of  it  all. 

Gudmund  stood  for  a  moment,  with  tense 
features,  and  looked  at  her.  "Farewell,  then! 
Now  we  must  go  our  separate  ways,  you  and  I," 
said  he.  With  that  he  made  a  long  jump  from 
this  ledge  of  the  mountain  down  to  the  next 
landing  and  disappeared  among  the  trees. 


THE  CIRL   FROM   THE  MARSH   CROFT     85 

VI 

GuDMUND  was  hardly  out  of  sight  when  Helga 
rushed  down  the  mountain  in  another  direction. 
She  ran  past  the  marsh  without  stopping  and 
hurried  over  the  wooded  hills  as  fast  as  she  could 
and  down  the  road.  She  stopped  at  the  first 
farmhouse  she  came  to  and  asked  for  the  loan  of 
a  horse  and  car  to  drive  to  Alvakra.  She  said 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  hfe  and  death  and  prom- 
ised to  pay  for  the  help.  The  church  folk  had 
already  returned  to  their  homes  and  were  talking 
of  the  adjourned  wedding.  They  were  all  very 
much  excited  and  very  solicitous  and  were  eager 
to  help  Helga,  since  she  appeared  to  have  an 
important  errand  to  the  home  of  the  bride. 

At  Alvikra  Hildur  Ericsdotter  sat  in  a  little 
room  on  the  upper  floor  where  she  had  dressed 
as  a  bride.  Her  mother  and  several  other  peas- 
ant women  were  with  her.  Hildur  did  not  weep; 
she  was  unusually  quiet,  and  so  pale  that  she 
looked  as  though  she  might  be  ill  at  any  moment. 
The  women  talked  all  the  while  of  Gudmund. 
All  blamed  him  and  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a 
fortunate  thing  that  she  was  rid  of  him.  Some 
thought  that  Gudmund  had  shown  very  Uttle 
consideration  for  his  parents-in-law  in  not  let- 
ting them  know  on  Palm  Sunday  how  matters 


86     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

stood  with  him.  Others,  again,  said  that  one 
who  had  had  such  happiness  awaiting  him 
should  have  known  how  to  take  better  care  of^ 
himself.  A  few  congratulated  Hildur  because 
she  had  escaped  marrjdng  a  man  who  could 
drink  himself  so  full  that  he  did  not  know  what 
he  was  doing. 

Amid  this,  Hildur  was  losing  her  patience  and 
rose  to  go  out.  As  soon  as  she  was  outside  the 
door,  her  best  friend,  a  young  peasant  girl,  came 
and  whispered  something  to  her.  "There  is 
some  one  below  who  wants  to  speak  with  you." 

"Is  it  Gudmund?"  asked  Hildur,  and  a  spark 
of  life  came  into  her  eyes. 

"No,  but  it  may  be  a  messenger  from  him. 
She  would  n't  divulge  the  nature  of  her  errand 
to  any  one  but  yourself,  she  declared." 

Hildur  had  been  sitting  thinking  all  day  that 
some  one  must  come  who  could  put  an  end  to 
her  misery.  She  could  n't  comprehend  that 
such  a  dreadful  misfortune  should  come  to  her. 
She  felt  that  something  ought  to  happen  that 
she  might  again  don  her  crown  and  wreath,  so 
they  could  proceed  with  the  wedding.  When 
she  heard  now  of  a  messenger  from  Gudmund, 
she  was  interested  and  immediately  went  out 
to  the  kitchen  hall  and  looked  for  her. 

Hildur   probably   wondered   why    Gudmund 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     87 

had  sent  Helga  to  her,  but  she  thought  that 
perhaps  he  could  n't  find  any  other  messenger 
on  a  hoUday,  and  greeted  her  pleasantly.  She 
motioned  to  Helga  to  come  with  her  into  the 
dairy  across  the  yard.  "I  know  no  other  place 
where  we  can  be  alone,"  she  said.  "The  house 
is  still  full  of  guests." 

As  soon  as  they  were  inside,  Helga  went  close 
up  to  Hildur  and  looked  her  square  in  the  face. 
"Before  I  say  anything  more,  I  must  know  if 
you  love  Gudmund." 

Hildur  winced.  It  was  painful  for  her  to  be 
obhged  to  exchange  a  single  word  with  Helga, 
and  she  had  no  desire  to  make  a  confidant  of 
her.  But  now  it  was  a  case  of  necessity,  and  she 
forced  herself  to  answer,  "Why  else  do  you  sup- 
pose I  wished  to  marry  him?" 

"I  mean,  do  you  still  love  him?" 

Hildur  was  like  stone,  but  she  could  not  lie 
under  the  other  woman's  searching  glance. 
"Perhaps  I  have  never  loved  him  so  much  as 
to-day,"  she  said,  but  she  said  this  so  feebly 
that  one  might  think  it  hurt  her  to  speak 
out. 

"Then  come  with  me  at  once!"  said  Helga. 
"I  have  a  wagon  down  the  road.  Go  in  after 
a  cloak  or  something  to  wrap  around  you;  then 
we'll  drive  to  Narlunda." 


88     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

"What  good  would  it  do  for  me  to  go  there?" 
asked  Hildur. 

"You  must  go  there  and  say  you  want  to  he 
Gudmund's,  no  matter  what  he  may  have  done, 
and  that  you  will  wait  faithfully  for  him  while 
he  is  in  prison." 

"Why  should  I  say  this?" 

"So  all  will  be  well  between  you," 

"But  that  is  impossible.  I  don't  want  to 
marry  any  one  who  has  been  in  prison!" 

Helga  staggered  back,  as  though  she  had 
bumped  against  a  wall,  but  she  quickly  regained 
her  courage.  She  could  understand  that  one 
who  was  rich  and  powerful,  like  Hildur,  must 
think  thus.  "I  should  not  come  and  ask  you 
to  go  to  Narlunda  did  I  not  know  that  Gudmund 
was  innocent,"  said  she. 

Now  it  was  Hildur  who  came  a  step  or 
two  towards  Helga.  "Do  you  know  this  for 
certain,  or  is  it  only  something  which  you 
imagine?  " 

"It  will  be  better  for  us  to  get  into  the  cart 
immediately;  then  I  can  talk  on  the  way." 

"No,  you  must  first  explain  what  you  mean; 
I  must  know  what  I'm  doing." 

Helga  was  in  such  a  fever  of  excitement  that 
she  could  hardly  stand  still;  nevertheless  she 
had  to  make  up  her  mind  to  tell  Hildur  how  she 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     89 

happened  to  know  that  Gudmund  was  not  the 
murderer. 

"Did  n't  you  tell  Gudmund  of  this  at  once?" 

"No,  I'm  telling  it  now  to  Hildur.  No  one 
else  knows  of  it." 

"And  why  do  you  come  to  me  with  this?" 

"That  all  may  be  well  between  you  two.  He 
will  soon  learn  that  he  has  done  no  wrong;  but 
I  want  you  to  go  to  him  as  if  of  your  own  accord, 
and  make  it  up." 

"Sha'n't  I  say  that  I  know  he  is  innocent?" 

"You  must  come  entirely  of  your  owti  accord 
and  must  never  let  him  know  I  have  spoken  to 
you ;  otherwise  he  will  never  forgive  you  for  what 
you  said  to  him  this  morning." 

Hildur  hstened  quietly.  There  was  some- 
thing in  this  which  she  had  never  met  with  in 
her  life  before,  and  she  was  striving  to  make  it 
clear  to  herself.  "Do  you  know  that  it  was  I 
who  wanted  you  to  leave  Narlunda?" 

"I  know,  of  course,  that  it  was  not  the  folk 
at  Narlunda  who  wished  me  away." 

"I  can't  comprehend  that  you  should  come 
to  me  to-day  with  the  desire  to  help  me." 

"Only  come  along  now,  Hildur,  so  all  will  be 
well!" 

Hildur  stared  at  Helga,  trying  all  the  while  to 
reason  it  out.  "Perhaps  Gudmund  loves  you?" 
she  blurted  out. 


90     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

And  now  Helga's  patience  was  exhausted. 
"What  could  I  be  to  him?"  she  said  sharply. 
"  You  know,  Hildur,  that  I  am  only  a  poor  croft 
girl,  and  that's  not  the  worst  about  me!" 

The  two  young  women  stole  unobserved  from 
the  homestead  and  were  soon  seated  in  the  cart. 
Helga  held  the  reins,  and  she  did  not  spare  the 
horse,  but  drove  at  full  speed.  Both  girls  were 
silent.  Hildur  sat  gazing  at  Helga.  She  mar- 
velled at  her  and  was  thinking  more  of  her  than 
of  anything  else. 

As  they  were  nearing  the  Erlandsson  farm, 
Helga  gave  the  reins  to  Hildur.  "Now  you 
must  go  alone  to  the  house  and  talk  with  Gud- 
mund,  I'll  follow  a  little  later  and  tell  that 
about  the  knife.  But  you  must  n't  say  a  word 
to  Gudmund  about  my  having  brought  you 
here." 

Gudmund  sat  in  the  living-room  at  Narlunda 
beside  his  mother  and  talked  with  her.  His 
father  was  sitting  a  little  way  from  them,  smok- 
ing. He  looked  pleased  and  said  not  a  word. 
It  was  apparent  that  he  thought  everything 
was  going  now  as  it  should  and  that  it  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  interfere. 

"I  wonder,  mother,  what  you  would  have 
said  if  you  had  got  Helga  for  a  daughter-in- 
law?"  ventured  Gudmund. 


THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT     91 

Mother  Ingeborg  raised  her  head  and  said  in 
a  firm  voice,  "I  will  with  pleasure  welcome  any 
daughter-in-law  if  I  only  know  that  she  loves 
you  as  a  wife  should  love  her  husband." 

This  was  barely  spoken  when  they  saw  Hildur 
Ericsdotter  drive  into  the  yard.  She  came 
immediately  into  the  cottage  and  was  unlike 
herself  in  many  respects.  She  did  not  step  into 
the  room  with  her  usual  briskness,  but  it  ap- 
peared almost  as  though  she  were  inclined  to 
pause  near  the  door,  like  some  poor  beggar- 
woman. 

However,  she  came  forward  finally  and  shook 
hands  with  mother  Ingeborg  and  Erland.  Then 
she  turned  to  Gudmund:  "It  is  with  you  that 
I  would  have  a  word  or  two." 

Gudmund  arose,  and  they  went  into  the  side 
room.  He  arranged  a  chair  for  Hildur,  but  she 
did  not  seat  herself.  She  blushed  with  embar- 
rassment, and  the  words  dropped  slowly  and 
heavily  from  her  lips.  "I  was  —  yes,  it  was 
much  too  hard  —  that  which  I  said  to  you  this 
morning." 

"We  came  so  abruptly,  Hildur,"  said  Gud- 
mund. 

She  grew  still  more  red  and  embarrassed.  "I 
should  have  thought  twice.  We  could  —  it 
would  of  course  —  " 


92     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

"It  is  probably  best  as  it  is,  Hildur.  It  is 
nothing  to  speak  of  now,  but  it  was  kind  of  you 
to  come."  '"^ 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  face,  drew  a  breath 
as  deep  as  a  sigh,  then  raised  her  head  again. 

"No!"  she  said,  "I  can't  do  it  in  this  way.  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  'm  better  than  I 
am.  There  was  some  one  who  came  to  me  and 
told  me  that  you  were  not  guilty  and  advised 
me  to  hurry  over  here  at  once  and  make  every- 
thing right  again.  And  I  was  not  to  mention 
that  I  already  knew  you  were  innocent,  for  then 
you  would  n't  think  it  so  noble  of  me  to  come. 
Now  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  I  wish  I  had 
thought  of  this  myself,  but  I  hadn't.  But  I 
have  longed  for  you  all  day  and  wished  that  all 
might  be  well  between  us.  Whichever  way  it 
turns  out,  I  want  to  say  that  I  am  glad  you  are 
innocent." 

"Who  advised  you  to  do  this?"  asked 
Gudmund. 

"I  was  not  to  tell  you  that." 

"I  am  surprised  that  any  one  should  know  of 
it.  Father  has  but  just  returned  from  the 
Sheriff.  He  telegraphed  to  the  city,  and  an 
answer  has  come  that  the  real  murderer  has 
already  been  found." 

As  Gudmund  was  relating  this,  Hildur  felt 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     93 

that  her  legs  were  beginning  to  shake,  and  she 
sat  down  quickly  in  the  chair.  She  was  fright- 
ened because  Gudmund  was  so  calm  and  pleas- 
ant, and  she  was  beginning  to  perceive  that  he 
was  wholly  out  of  her  power.  "I  can  under- 
stand that  you  can  never  forget  how  I  behaved 
to  you  this  forenoon." 

"Surely  I  can  forgive  you  that,"  he  said  in 
the  same  even  tone.  ''We  will  never  speak  of 
the  matter  again." 

She  shivered,  dropped  her  eyes,  and  sat  as 
though  she  were  expecting  something.  "It  was 
simply  a  stroke  of  good  fortune,  Hildur,"  he 
said,  coming  forward  and  grasping  her  hand, 
"that  it  is  over  between  us,  for  to-day  it  became 
clear  to  me  that  I  love  another.  I  think  I  have 
been  fond  of  her  for  a  long  time,  but  I  did  not 
know  it  until  to-day." 

"Whom  do  you  care  for,  Gudmund?"  came 
in  a  colorless  voice  from  Hildur. 

"It  doesn't  matter.  I  shall  not  marry  her, 
as  she  does  not  care  for  me,  nor  can  I  marry 
anyone  else." 

Hildur  raised  her  head.  It  was  not  easy  to 
tell  what  was  taking  place  in  her.  At  this 
moment  she  felt  that  she,  the  rich  farmer's 
daughter,  with  all  her  beauty  and  all  her  pos- 
sessions, was  nothing  to  Gudmund.      She  was 


94     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

proud  and  did  not  wish  to  part  from  him  without 
teaching  him  that  she  had  a  value  of  her  own^ 
apart  from  all  the  external  things.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me,  Gudmund,  if  it  is  Helga  from  Big 
Marsh  whom  you  love." 

Gudmund  was  silent. 

"It  was  she  who  came  to  me  and  taught  me 
what  I  should  do  that  all  might  be  well  between 
us.  She  knew  you  were  innocent,  but  she  did 
not  say  so  to  you.    She  let  me  know  it  first." 

Gudmund  looked  her  steadily  in  the  eyes. 
"Do  you  think  this  means  that  she  has  a  great 
affection  for  me?" 

"You  may  be  sure  of  it,  Gudmund.  I  can 
prove  it.  No  one  in  the  world  could  love  you 
more  than  she  does." 

He  walked  rapidly  across  the  floor  and  back, 
then  he  stopped  suddenly  before  Hildur.  "And 
you  —  why  do  you  tell  me  this?" 

"Surely  I  do  not  wish  to  stand  beneath  Helga 
in  magnanimity!" 

"Oh,  Hildur,  Hildur!"  he  cried,  placing  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders  and  shaking  her  to  give 
vent  to  his  emotion.  "You  don't  know,  oh, 
you  don't  know  how  much  I  like  you  at  this 
moment!  You  don't  know  how  happy  you  have 
made  me!" 

Helga  sat  by  the  roadside  and  waited.    With 


THE  GIRL  FROM   THE  MARSH  CROFT     95 

her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  she  sat  and 
pictured  Hildur  and  Gudmund  together  and 
thought  how  happy  they  must  be  now. 

While  she  sat  thus,  a  servant  from  Niirlunda 
came  along.  He  stopped  when  he  saw  her.  "I 
suppose  you  have  heard  that  affair  which  con- 
cerns Gudmund?" 

She  had. 

"It  was  not  true,  fortunately.  The  real  mur- 
derer is  already  in  custody." 

"I  knew  it  could  n't  be  true,"  said  Helga. 

Thereupon  the  man  went,  and  Helga  sat  there 
alone,  as  before.  So  they  knew  it  already  down 
there!  It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  go  to 
Narlunda  and  tell  of  it. 

She  felt  herself  so  strangely  shut  out!  Earlier 
in  the  day  she  had  been  so  eager.  She  had  not 
thought  of  herself  — only  that  Gudmund  and 
Hildur's  marriage  should  take  place.  But  now 
it  flashed  upon  her  how  alone  she  was.  And  it 
was  hard  not  to  be  something  to  those  of  whom 
one  is  fond.  Gudmund  did  not  need  her  now, 
and  her  own  child  had  been  appropriated  by  her 
mother,  who  would  hardly  allow  her  to  look  at  it. 

She  was  thinking  that  she  had  better  rise  and 
go  home,  but  the  hills  appeared  long  and  diSi- 
cult  to  her.  She  did  n't  know  how  she  should 
ever  be  able  to  climb  them. 


96     THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

A  vehicle  came  along  now  from  the  direction 
of  Narlunda.  Hildur  and  Gudmund  were, 
seated  in  the  cart.  Now  they  were  probably 
on  their  way  to  Alvakra  to  tell  that  they  were 
reconciled.  To-morrow  the  wedding  would 
take  place. 

When  they  discovered  Helga,  they  stopped 
the  horse.  Gudmund  handed  the  reins  to  Hildur 
and  jumped  down.  Hildur  nodded  to  Helga 
and  drove  on. 

Gudmund  remained  standing  on  the  road  and 
facing  Helga.  "I  am  glad  you  are  sitting  here, 
Helga,"  he  said.  "I  thought  that  I  would  have 
to  go  up  to  Big  Marsh  to  meet  you." 

He  said  this  abruptly,  ahnost  harshly;  at  the 
same  time  he  gripped  her  hand  tightly.  And 
she  read  in  his  eyes  that  he  knew  now  where  he 
had  her.  Now  she  could  no  more  escape  from 
him. 


The  Silver  Mine 


The  Silver  Mine 

King  Gustaf  the  Third  was  travelling  through 
Dalecarlia.  He  was  pressed  for  time,  and  all 
the  way  he  wanted  to  drive  Hke  lightning. 
Although  they  drove  with  such  speed  that  the 
horses  were  extended  like  stretched  rubber 
bands  and  the  coach  cleared  the  turns  on  two 
wheels,  the  King  poked  his  head  out  of  the 
window  and  shouted  to  the  postilion:  "Why 
don't  you  go  ahead?  Do  you  think  you  are 
driving  over  eggs?" 

Since  they  had  to  drive  over  poor  country 
roads  at  such  a  mad  pace,  it  would  have  been 
almost  a  miracle  had  the  harness  and  wagon  held 
together!  And  they  didn't,  either;  for  at  the 
foot  of  a  steep  hill  the  pole  broke  —  and  there 
the  King  sat!  The  courtiers  sprang  from  the 
coach  and  scolded  the  driver,  but  this  did  not 
lessen  the  damage  done.  There  was  no  possibil- 
ity of  continuing  the  journey  until  the  coach 
was  mended. 

When  the  courtiers  looked  round  to  try  and 
find  something  with  which  the  King  could  amuse 


V 


lOO  THE  SILVER  MINE 

himself  while  he  waited,  they  noticed  a  church 
spire  looming  high  above  the  trees  in  a  grove 
a  short  distance  ahead.  They  intimated  to  the 
King  that  he  might  step  into  one  of  the  coaches 
in  which  the  attendants  were  riding  and  drive 
up  to  the  church.  It  was  a  Sunday,  and  the 
King  might  attend  service  to  pass  the  time 
until  the  royal  coach  was  ready. 

The  King  accepted  the  proposal  and  drove 
toward  the  church.  He  had  been  traveUing  for 
hours  through  dark  forest  regions,  but  here  it 
looked  more  cheerful,  with  fairly  large  meadows 
and  villages,  and  with  the  Dal  River  gliding  on, 
light  and  pretty,  between  thick  rows  of  alder 
bushes. 

But  the  King  had  ill-luck  to  this  extent:  the 
bellringer  took  up  the  recessional  chant  just  as 
the  King  was  stepping  from  the  coach  on  the 
church  knoll  and  the  people  were  coming  out 
from  the  service.  But  when  they  came  walking 
past  him,  the  King  remained  standing,  with  one 
foot  in  the  wagon  and  the  other  on  the  foot- 
step. He  did  not  move  from  the  spot  —  only 
stared  at  them.  They  were  the  finest  lot  of  folk 
he  had  ever  seen.  All  the  men  were  above  the 
average  height,  with  intelligent  and  earnest 
faces,  and  the  women  were  dignified  and  stately, 
with  an  air  of  Sabbath  peace  about  them. 


THE  SILVER  MINE  loi 

The  whole  of  the  preceding  day  the  King  had 
talked  only  of  the  desolate  tracts  he  was  passing 
through,  and  had  said  to  his  courtiers  again  and 
again,  "Now  I  am  certainly  driving  through  the 
very  poorest  part  of  my  kingdom!"  But  now, 
when  he  saw  the  people,  garbed  in  the  picturesque 
dress  of  this  section  of  the  country,  he  forgot  to 
think  of  their  poverty;  instead  his  heart  warmed, 
and  he  remarked  to  himself:  "The  King  of 
Sweden  is  not  so  badly  off  as  his  enemies  think. 
So  long  as  my  subjects  look  Uke  this,  I  shall 
probably  be  able  to  defend  both  my  faith  and 
my  country." 

He  commanded  the  courtiers  to  make  known 
to  the  people  that  the  stranger  who  was  stand- 
ing amongst  them  was  their  King,  and  that  they 
should  gather  around  him,  so  he  could  talk  to 
them. 

And  then  the  King  made  a  speech  to  the 
people.  He  spoke  from  the  high  steps  outside 
the  vestry,  and  the  narrow  step  upon  which  he 
stood  is  there  even  to-day. 

The  King  gave  an  account  of  the  sad  plight 
in  which  the  kingdom  was  placed.  He  said  that 
the  Swedes  were  threatened  with  war,  both  by 
Russians  and  Danes.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances it  would  n't  be  such  a  serious  matter, 
but  now  the  army  was  filled  with  traitors,  and 


102  THE  SILVER  MINE 

he  did  not  dare  depend  upon  it.  Therefore 
there  was  no  other  course  for  him  to  pursue 
than  to  go  himself  into  the  country  settlements 
and  ask  his  subjects  if  they  would  be  loyal  to 
their  King  and  help  him  with  men  and  money, 
so  he  could  save  the  Fatherland. 

The  peasants  stood  quietly  while  the  King 
was  speaking,  and  when  he  had  finished  they 
gave  no  sign  either  of  approval  or  disapproval. 

The  King  himself  thought  that  he  had  spoken 
very  well.  The  tears  had  sprung  to  his  eyes 
several  times  while  he  was  speaking.  But  when 
the  peasants  stood  there  all  the  while,  troubled 
and  undecided,  and  could  not  make  up  their 
minds  to  answer  him,  the  King  frowned  and 
looked  displeased. 

The  peasants  understood  that  it  was  becom- 
ing monotonous  for  the  King  to  v/ait,  and  finally 
one  of  them  stepped  out  from  the  crowd. 

"Now,  you  must  know,  King  Gustaf,  that 
we  were  not  expecting  a  royal  visit  in  the  parish 
to-day,"  said  the  peasant,  "and  therefore  we 
are  not  prepared  to  answer  you  at  once.  I  ad- 
vise you  to  go  into  the  vestry  and  speak  with 
our  pastor,  while  we  discuss  among  ourselves 
this  matter  which  you  have  laid  before  us." 

The  King  apprehended  that  a  more  satisfac- 
tory response  was  not  to  be  had  immediately,  so 


THE  SILVER  MINE  103 

he  felt  that  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  follow  the 
peasant's  advice. 

When  he  came  into  the  vestry,  he  found  no 
one  there  but  a  man  who  looked  like  a  peasant. 
He  was  tall  and  rugged,  with  big  hands,  tough- 
ened by  labor,  and  he  wore  neither  cassock  nor 
collar,  but  leather  breeches  and  a  long  white 
homespun  coat,  like  all  the  other  men 

He  arose  and  bowed  to  the  King  when  the 
latter  entered. 

"I  thought  I  should  find  the  parson  in  here," 
said  the  King. 

The  man  grew  somewhat  red  in  the  face.  He 
thought  it  annoying  to  mention  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  parson  of  this  parish,  when  he  saw  that 
the  King  had  mistaken  him  for  a  peasant. 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "the  parson  is  usually  on  hand 
in  here." 

The  King  dropped  into  a  large  armchair 
which  stood  in  the  vestry  at  that  time,  and 
which  stands  there  to-day,  looking  exactly  like 
itself,  with  this  difference:  the  congregation 
has  had  a  gilded  crown  attached  to  the  back 
of  it. 

"Have  you  a  good  parson  in  this  parish?" 
asked  the  King,  who  wanted  to  appear  interested 
in  the  welfare  of  the  peasants. 

When  the  King  questioned  him  in  this  manner, 


I04  THE  SILVER  MINE 

the  parson  felt  that  he  couldn't  possibly  tell 
who  he  was.  "It's  better  to  let  him  go  on  be- 
lieving that  I'm  only  a  peasant,"  thought  he, 
and  replied  that  the  parson  was  good  enough. 
He  preached  a  pure  and  clear  gospel  and  tried 
to  live  as  he  taught. 

The  King  thought  that  this  was  a  good  com- 
mendation, but  he  had  a  sharp  ear  and  marked 
a  certain  doubt  in  the  tone.  "You  sound  as  if 
you  were  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  parson," 
said  the  King. 

"He's  a  bit  arbitrary,"  said  the  man,  thinking 
that  if  the  Kjng  should  find  out  later  who  he 
was,  he  would  not  think  that  the  parson  had 
been  standing  here  and  blowing  his  own  horn, 
therefore  he  wished  to  come  out  with  a  little 
fault-finding  also.  "There  are  some,  no  doubt, 
who  say  the  parson  wants  to  be  the  only  one 
to  counsel  and  rule  in  this  parish,"  he  continued. 

"Then,  at  all  events,  he  has  led  and  managed 
in  the  best  possible  way,"  said  the  King.  He 
did  n't  Uke  it  that  the  peasant  complained  of 
one  who  was  placed  above  him.  "To  me  it 
appears  as  though  good  habits  and  old-time 
simplicity  were  the  rule  here." 

"The  people  are  good  enough,"  said  the  curate, 
"but  then  they  live  in  poverty  and  isolation. 
Human  beings   here  would  certainly    be    no 


THE  SILVER  MINE  105 

better  than  others  if  this  world's  temptations 
came  closer  to  them," 

"But  there's  no  fear  of  anything  of  the  sort 
happening,"  said  the  King  with  a  shrug. 

He  said  nothing  further,  but  began  thrum- 
ming on  the  table  with  his  fingers.  He  thought 
he  had  exchanged  a  sufficient  number  of  gracious 
words  with  this  peasant  and  wondered  when  the 
others  would  be  ready  with  their  answer. 

''These  peasants  are  not  very  eager  to  help 
their  King,"  thought  he.  "If  I  only  had  my 
coach,  I  would  drive  away  from  them  and  their 
palaver!" 

The  pastor  sat  there  troubled,  debating  w^th 
himself  as  to  how  he  should  decide  an  important 
matter  which  he  must  settle.  He  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  happy  because  he  had  not  told  the 
King  who  he  was.  Now  he  felt  that  he  could 
speak  with  him  about  matters  which  otherwise 
he  could  not  have  placed  before  him. 

After  a  while  the  parson  broke  the  silence  and 
asked  the  King  if  it  was  an  actual  fact  that 
enemies  were  upon  them  and  that  the  kingdom 
was  in  danger. 

The  King  thought  this  man  ought  to  have 
sense  enough  not  to  trouble  him  further.  He 
simply  glared  at  him  and  said  nothing. 

"I  ask  because  I  was  standing  in  here  and 


io6  THE  SILVER  MINE 

could  not  hear  very  well,"  said  the  parson.  "  But 
if  this  is  really  the  case,  I  want  to  say  to  you 
that  the  pastor  of  this  congregation  might  per- 
haps be  able  to  procure  for  the  King  as  much 
money  as  he  will  need." 

"I  thought  you  said  just  now  that  every  one 
here  was  poor,"  said  the  King,  thinking  that  the 
man  did  n't  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 

*'Yes,  that  is  true,"  repHed  the  rector,  "and 
the  parson  has  no  more  than  any  of  the  others. 
But  if  the  King  would  condescend  to  listen  to 
me  for  a  moment,  I  will  explain  how  the  pastor 
happens  to  have  the  power  to  help  him." 

"You  may  speak,"  said  the  King.  "You 
seem  to  find  it  easier  to  get  the  words  past  your 
hps  than  your  friends  and  neighbors  out  there, 
who  never  will  be  ready  with  what  they  have  to 
tell  me." 

"It  is  not  so  easy  to  reply  to  the  King!  I  'm 
afraid  that,  in  the  end,  it  will  be  the  parson  who 
must  undertake  this  on  behalf  of  the  others." 

The  King  crossed  his  legs,  folded  his  arms,  and 
let  his  head  sink  down  on  his  breast.  "You  may 
begin  now,"  he  said  in  the  tone  of  one  already 
asleep. 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  were  five  men  from 
this  parish  who  were  out  on  a  moose  hunt,"  be- 
gan the  clergyman.    "One  of  them  was  the  par- 


THE  SILVER  MINE  107 

son  of  whom  we  are  speaking.  Two  of  the  others 
were  soldiers,  named  Olaf  and  Eric  Svard;  the 
fourth  man  was  the  innkeeper  in  this  settlement, 
and  the  fifth  was  a  peasant  named  Israel  Per 
Persson." 

"Don't  go  to  the  trouble  of  mentioning  so 
many  names,"  muttered  the  King,  letting  his 
head  droop  to  one  side. 

"Those  men  were  good  hunters,"  continued 
the  parson,  "who  usually  had  luck  with  them; 
but  that  day  they  had  wandered  long  and  far 
without  getting  anything.  Finally  they  gave 
up  the  hunt  altogether  and  sat  down  on  the 
ground  to  talk.  They  said  there  was  not  a  spot 
in  the  whole  forest  fit  for  cultivation;  all  of  it 
was  only  mountain  and  swamp  land.  'Our 
Lord  has  not  done  right  by  us  in  giving  us  such 
a  poor  land  to  live  in,'  said  one.  'In  other  lo- 
calities people  can  get  riches  for  themselves  in 
abundance,  but  here,  with  all  our  toil  and  drudg- 
ery, we  can  scarcely  get  our  daily  bread.'" 

The  pastor  paused  a  moment,  as  if  uncertain 
that  the  King  heard  him,  but  the  latter  moved 
his  little  finger  to  show  that  he  was  awake. 

"Just  as  the  hunters  were  discussing  this  mat- 
ter, the  parson  saw  something  that  glittered  at 
the  base  of  the  mountain,  where  he  had  kicked 
away  a  moss-tuft.    'This  is  a  queer  mountain,' 


io8  THE  SILVER  MINE 

he  thought,  as  he  kicked  off  another  moss-tuft. 
He  picked  up  a  shiver  of  stone  that  came  with 
the  moss  and  which  shone  exactly  Uke  the  other. 
'It  can't  be  possible  that  this  stuff  is  lead,'  said 
he.  Then  the  others  sprang  up  and  scraped 
away  the  turf  with  the  butt  end  of  their  rifles. 
When  they  did  this,  they  saw  plainly  that  a 
broad  vein  of  ore  followed  the  mountain.  'What 
do  you  think  this  might  be? '  asked  the  parson. 
The  men  chipped  off  bits  of  stone  and  bit  into 
them.  'It  must  be  lead,  or  zinc  at  least,'  said 
they.  'And  the  whole  mountain  is  full  of  it/ 
added  the  innkeeper." 

When  the  parson  had  got  thus  far  in  his  narra- 
tive, the  King's  head  was  seen  to  straighten  up 
a  little  and  one  eye  opened.  "Do  you  know  if 
any  of  those  persons  knew  anything  about  ore 
and  minerals?"   he  asked. 

"They  did  not,"  replied  the  parson. 

Then  the  King's  head  sank  and  both  eyes 
closed. 

"The  clergyman  and  his  companions  were 
very  happy,"  continued  the  speaker,  without 
letting  himself  be  disturbed  by  the  King's  in- 
difference; "they  fancied  that  now  they  had 
found  that  which  would  give  them  and  their 
descendants  wealth.  '  I  '11  never  have  to  do 
any  more  work,'  said  one.    'Now  I  can  afford  to 


THE  SILVER  MINE  109 

do  nothing  at  all  the  whole  week  through,  and 
on  Sundays  I  shall  drive  to  church  in  a  golden 
chariot!'  They  were  otherwise  sensible  men, 
but  the  great  find  had  gone  to  their  heads  and 
they  talked  like  children.  Still  they  had  enough 
presence  of  mind  to  put  back  the  moss-tufts  and 
conceal  the  vein  of  ore.  Then  they  carefully  noted 
the  place  where  it  was,  and  went  home.  Before 
they  parted  company,  they  agreed  that  the  par- 
son should  travel  to  Falun  and  ask  the  mining 
expert  what  kind  of  ore  this  was.  He  was  to 
return  as  soon  as  possible,  and  until  then  they 
promised  one  another  on  oath  not  to  reveal  to  a 
single  soul  where  the  ore  was  to  be  found." 

The  King's  head  was  raised  again  a  trifle,  but 
he  did  not  interrupt  the  speaker  with  a  word.  It 
appeared  as  though  he  was  beginning  to  believe 
that  the  man  actually  had  something  of  impor- 
tance he  wished  to  say  to  him,  since  he  did  n't 
allow  himself  to  be  disturbed  by  his  indifiference. 

"Then  the  parson  departed  with  a  few  sam- 
ples of  ore  in  his  pocket.  He  was  just  as  happy 
in  the  thought  of  becoming  rich  as  the  others 
were.  He  was  thinking  of  rebuilding  the  par- 
sonage, which  at  present  was  no  better  than  a 
peasant's  cottage,  and  then  he  would  marry  a 
dean's  daughter  whom  he  Uked.  He  had  thought 
that  he  might  have  to  wait  for  her  many  years! 


•  i 


no  THE  SILVER  MINE 

He  was  poor  and  obscure  and  knew  that,  it 
would  be  a  long  while  before  he  should  get  ariy 
post  that  would  enable  him  to  marry. 

"The  parson  drove  over  to  Falun  in  two 
days,  and  there  he  had  to  wait  another  whole 
day  because  the  mining  expert  was  away. 
Finally,  he  ran  across  him  and  showed  him  the 
bits  of  ore.  The  mining  expert  took  them  in 
his  hand.  He  looked  at  them  first,  then  at  the 
parson.  The  parson  related  how  he  had  found 
them  in  a  mountain  at  home  in  his  parish,  and 
wondered  if  it  might  not  be  lead. 

'No,  it 's  not  lead,'  said  the  mining  expert. 
'Perhaps    it    is    zinc,    then?'    asked    the 
parson. 

"'Nor  is  it  zinc,'  said  the  mineralogist. 

"The  parson  thought  that  all  the  hope  within 
him  sank.  He  had  not  been  so  depressed  in 
many  a  long  day. 

"'Have  you  many  stones  like  these  in  your 
parish? '  asked  the  mineralogist. 

"'We  have  a  whole  mountain  full,'  said  the 
parson. 

"Then  the  mineralogist  came  up  closer, 
slapped  the  parson  on  the  shoulder,  and  said, 
'Let  us  see  that  you  make  such  good  use  of  this 
that  it  will  prove  a  blessing  both  to  yourselves 
and  to  the  country,  for  this  is  silver.' 


THE  SILVER  MINE  m 

"'Indeed?'  said  the  parson,  feeling  his  way. 
*So  it  is  silver!' 

"The  mineralogist  began  telling  him  how  he 
should  go  to  work  to  get  legal  rights  to  the  mine 
and  gave  him  many  valuable  suggestions;  but 
the  parson  stood  there  dazed  and  did  n't  listen 
to  what  he  was  saying.  He  was  only  thinking 
of  how  wonderful  it  was  that  at  home  in  his  poor 
parish  stood  a  whole  mountain  of  silver  ore, 
waiting  for  him." 

The  King  raised  his  head  so  suddenly  that  the 
parson  stopped  short  in  his  narrative.  "It 
turned  out,  of  course,  that  when  he  got  home 
and  began  working  the  mine,  he  saw  that  the 
mineralogist  had  only  been  stringing  him," 
said  the  King. 

"Oh,  no,  the  mineralogist  had  not  fooled  him," 
said  the  parson. 

"You  may  continue,"  said  the  King,  as  he 
settled  himself  more  comfortably  in  the  chair 
to  listen. 

"When  the  parson  was  at  home  again  and 
was  driving  through  the  parish,"  continued  the 
clerg^Tnan,  "he  thought  that  first  of  all  he 
should  inform  his  partners  of  the  value  of  their 
find.  And  as  he  drove  alongside  the  innkeeper 
Sten  Stensson's  place,  he  intended  to  drive  up  to 
the  house  to  tell  him  they  had  found  silver. 


•  \ 


112  THE  SILVER  MINE 

But  when  he  stopped  outside  the  gate,  he  noticed 
that  a  broad  path  of  evergreen  was  strewn  all 
the  way  up  to  the  doorstep. 

"'Who  has  died  in  this  place?'  asked  the 
parson  of  a  boy  who  stood  leaning  against  the 
fence. 

"'The  innkeeper  himself,'  answered  the  boy. 
Then  he  let  the  clergyman  know  that  the  inn- 
keeper had  drunk  himself  full  every  day  for  a 
week.  'Oh,  so  much  brandy,  so  much  brandy 
has  been  drunk  here!' 

"'How  can  that  be?'  asked  the  parson.  'The 
innkeeper  used  never  to  drink  himself  full.' 

"'Oh,'  said  the  boy,  'he  drank  because  he  said 
he  had  found  a  mine.  He  was  very  rich.  He 
should  never  have  to  do  anything  now  but  drink, 
he  said.  Last  night  he  drove  off,  full  as  he  was, 
and  the  wagon  turned  over  and  he  was  killed.' 

"When  the  parson  heard  this,  he  drove  home- 
ward. He  was  distressed  over  what  he  had 
heard.  He  had  come  back  so  happy,  rejoicing 
because  he  could  tell  the  great  good  news. 

"When  the  parson  had  driven  a  few  paces, 
he  saw  Israel  Per  Persson  walking  along.  He 
looked  about  as  usual,  and  the  parson  thought 
it  was  well  that  fortune  had  not  gone  to  his 
head  too.  Him  he  would  cheer  at  once  with  the 
news  that  he  was  a  rich  man. 


THE  SILVER  MINE  113 

'''Good  day!'  said  Per  Persson.  'Do  you 
come  from  Falun  now?' 

"'I  do,'  said  the  parson.  'And  now  I  must 
tell  you  that  it  has  turned  out  even  better  than 
we  had  imagined.  The  mineralogist  said  it  was 
silver  ore  that  we  had  found.' 

"That  instant  Per  Persson  looked  as  though 
the  ground  under  him  had  opened!  'What  are 
you  saying,  what  are  you  saying?    Is  it  silver? ' 

"'Yes,'  answered  the  parson.  'We'll  all 
be  rich  men  now,  all  of  us,  and  can  live  like 
gentlemen.' 

'"Oh,  is  it  silver!'  said  Per  Persson  once 
again,  looking  more  and  more  mournful. 

"'WTiy,  of  course  it  is  silver,'  replied  the  par- 
son. 'You  mustn't  think  that  I  want  to  de- 
ceive you.  You  mustn't  be  afraid  of  being 
happy.' 

"'Happy!'  said  Per  Persson.  'Should  I  be 
happy?  I  believed  it  was  only  glitter  that  we 
had  found,  so  I  thought  it  would  be  better  to 
take  the  certain  for  the  uncertain:  I  have  sold 
my  share  in  the  mine  to  Olaf  Svard  for  a  hundred 
dollars.'  He  was  desperate,  and  when  the  par- 
son drove  away  from  him,  he  stood  on  the  high- 
way and  wept. 

"When  the  clergyman  got  back  to  his  home, 
he  sent  a  servant  to  Olaf  Svard  and  his  brother 


114  THE  SILVER  MINE 

to  tell  them  that  it  was  silver  they  had  found. 
He  thought  that  he  had  had  quite  enough  of 
driving  around  and  spreading  the  good  news. 

"But  in  the  evening,  when  the  parson  sat 
alone,  his  joy  asserted  itself  again.  He  went  out 
in  the  darkness  and  stood  on  a  hillock  upon 
which  he  contemplated  building  the  new  par- 
sonage. It  should  be  imposing,  of  course,  as 
fine  as  a  bishop's  palace.  He  stood  out  there 
long  that  night;  nor  did  he  content  himself  with 
rebuilding  the  parsonage!  It  occurred  to  him 
that,  since  there  were  such  riches  to  be  found  in 
the  parish,  throngs  of  people  would  pour  in  and, 
finally,  a  whole  city  would  be  built  around  the 
mine.  And  then  he  would  have  to  erect  a  new 
church  in  place  of  the  old  one.  Towards  this 
object  a  large  portion  of  his  wealth  would  prob- 
ably go.  And  he  was  not  content  with  this, 
either,  but  fancied  that  when  his  church  was 
ready,  the  King  and  many  bishops  would  come 
to  the  dedication.  Then  the  King  would  be 
pleased  with  the  church,  but  he  would  remark 
that  there  was  no  place  where  a  king  might  put 
up,  and  then  he  would  have  to  erect  a  castle  in 
the  new  city." 

Just  then  one  of  the  King's  courtiers  opened 
the  door  of  the  vestry  and  announced  that  the 
big  royal  coach  was  mended. 


THE  SILVER  MINE  T15 

At  the  first  moment  the  King  was  ready  to 
withdraw,  but  on  second  thought  he  changed 
his  mind.  "You  may  tell  your  story  to  the  end," 
he  said  to  the  parson.  "But  you  can  hurry  it  a 
bit.  We  know  all  about  how  the  man  thought 
and  dreamed.    We  want  to  know  how  he  acted." 

"But  while  the  parson  was  still  lost  in  his 
dreams,"  continued  the  clergyman,  "word  came 
to  him  that  Israel  Per  Persson  had  made  away 
with  himself.  He  had  not  been  able  to  bear  the 
disappointment  of  having  sold  his  share  in  the 
mine.  He  had  thought,  no  doubt,  that  he 
could  not  endure  to  go  about  every  day  seeing 
another  enjoying  the  wealth  that  might  have 
been  his." 

The  King  straightened  up  a  little.  He  kept 
both  eyes  open.  "Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  "if 
I  had  been  that  parson,  I  should  have  had 
enough  of  the  mine!" 

"The  King  is  a  rich  man,"  said  the  parson. 
"He  has  quite  enough,  at  all  even.ts.  It  is  not 
the  same  thing  with  a  poor  curate  who  pos- 
sesses nothing.  The  unhappy  wretch  thought 
instead,  when  he  saw  that  God's  blessing  was 
not  with  his  enterprise:  'I  will  dream  no  more 
of  bringing  glory  and  profit  to  myself  with  these 
riches;  but  I  can't  let  the  silver  lie  buried  in  the 
earth!    I  must  take  it  out,  for  the  benefit  of  the 


Il6  THE  SILVER  MINE 

poor  and  needy.  I  will  work  the  mine,  to  put 
the  whole  parish  on  its  feet.' 

"So  one  day  the  parson  went  out  to  see  Olaf 
Svard,  to  ask  him  and  his  brother  as  to  what 
should  be  done  immediately  with  the  silver 
mountain.  When  he  came  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
barracks,  he  met  a  cart  surrounded  by  armed 
peasants,  and  in  the  cart  sat  a  man  with  his 
hands  tied  behind  him  and  a  rope  around  his 
ankles. 

"When  the  parson  passed  by,  the  cart  stopped, 
and  he  had  time  to  regard  the  prisoner,  whose 
head  was  tied  up  so  it  was  n't  easy  to  see  who  he 
was.  But  the  parson  thought  he  recognized 
Olaf  Svard.  He  heard  the  prisoner  beg  those 
who  guarded  him  to  let  him  speak  a  few  words 
with  the  parson. 

"The  parson  drew  nearer,  and  the  prisoner 
turned  toward  him.  'You  will  soon  be  the  only 
one  who  knows  where  the  silver  mine  is,'  said 
Olaf. 

"'What  are  you  saying,  Olaf?'  asked  the 
parson. 

"'Well,  you  see,  parson,  since  we  have  learned 
that  it  was  a  silver  mine  we  had  found,  my 
brother  and  I  could  no  longer  be  as  good  friends 
as  before.  We  were  continually  quarrelling. 
Last  night  we  got  into  a  controversy  over  which 


THE  SILVER  MINE  117 

one  of  us  five  it  was  who  first  discovered  the 
mine.  It  ended  in  strife  between  us,  and  we 
came  to  blows.  I  have  killed  my  brother  and  he 
has  left  me  with  a  souvenir  across  the  forehead 
to  remember  him  by.  I  must  hang  now,  and 
then  you  will  be  the  only  one  who  knows  any- 
thing about  the  mine ;  therefore  I  wish  to  ask 
something  of  you.' 

"'Speak  out!'  said  the  parson.  *I  '11  do  what 
I  can  for  you.' 

"'You  know  that  lam  leaving  several  Httle 
children  behind  me,'  began  the  soldier,  but  the 
parson  interrupted  him. 

"'As  regards  this,  you  can  rest  easy.  That 
which  comes  to  your  share  in  the  mine,  they 
shall  have,  exactly  as  if  you  yourself  were  living.' 

"'No,'  said  Olaf  Svard,  '  it  was  another  thing 
I  wanted  to  ask  of  you.  Don't  let  them  have 
any  portion  of  that  which  comes  from  the  mine ! ' 

"The  parson  staggered  back  a  step.  He 
stood  there  dumb  and  could  not  answer. 

"'If  you  do  not  promise  me  this,  I  cannot  die 
in  peace,'  said  the  prisoner. 

"'Yes,'  said  the  parson  slowly  and  painfully. 
*I  promise  you  what  you  ask  of  me.' 

"Thereupon  the  murderer  was  taken  away, 
and  the  parson  stood  on  the  highway  thinking 
how  he  should  keep  the  promise  he  had  given 


Ii8  THE  SILVER  MINE 

him.  On  the  way  home  he  thought  of  the  wealth 
which  he  had  been  so  happy  over.  But  if  it 
really  were  true  that  the  people  in  this  com- 
munity could  not  stand  riches?  —  Already  four 
were  ruined,  who  hitherto  had  been  dignified 
and  excellent  men.  He  seemed  to  see  the  whole 
community  before  him,  and  he  pictured  to  him- 
self how  this  silver  mine  would  destroy  one  after 
another.  Was  it  befitting  that  he,  who  had 
been  appointed  to  watch  over  these  poor  human 
beings'  souls,  should  let  loose  upon  them  that 
which  would  be  their  destruction?" 

All  of  a  sudden  the  King  sat  bolt  upright  in 
his  chair.  "I  declare!"  said  he,  "you  '11  make 
me  understand  that  a  parson  in  this  isolated 
settlement  must  be  every  inch  a  man." 

"Nor  was  it  enough  with  what  had  already 
happened,"  continued  the  parson,  "for  as  soon 
as  the  news  about  the  mine  spread  among  the 
parishioners,  they  stopped  working  and  went 
about  in  idleness,  waiting  for  the  time  when 
great  riches  should  pour  in  on  them.  All  the 
ne'er-do-wells  there  were  in  this  section  streamed 
in,  and  drunkenness  and  fighting  were  what  the 
parson  heard  talked  of  continually.  A  lot  of 
people  did  nothing  but  tramp  round  in  the 
forest  searching  for  the  mine,  and  the  parson 
marked  that  as  soon  as  he  left  the  house  people 


THE  SILVER  MINE  119 

followed  him  stealthily  to  find  out  if  he  was  n't 
going  to  the  silver  mountain  and  to  steal  the 
secret  from  him. 

"When  matters  were  come  to  this  pass,  the 
parson  called  the  peasants  together  to  vote. 
To  start  with,  he  reminded  them  of  all  the  mis- 
fortunes which  the  discovery  of  the  mountain 
had  brought  upon  them,  and  he  asked  them  if 
they  were  going  to  let  themselves  be  ruined  or 
if  they  would  save  themselves.  Then  he  told 
them  that  they  must  not  expect  him,  who  was 
their  spiritual  adviser,  to  help  on  their  destruc- 
tion. Now  he  had  decided  not  to  reveal  to  any 
one  where  the  silver  mine  was,  and  never  would 
he  himself  take  riches  from  it.  And  then  he 
asked  the  peasants  how  they  would  have  it 
henceforth.  If  they  washed  to  continue  their 
search  for  the  mine  and  wait  upon  riches,  then 
he  would  go  so  far  away  that  not  a  hearsay  of 
their  misery  could  reach  him ;  but  if  they  would 
give  up  thinking  about  the  silver  mine  and  be  as 
heretofore,  he  would  remain  with  them.  'Which- 
ever way  you  may  choose,'  said  the  parson,  're- 
member this,  that  from  me  no  one  shall  ever 
know  anything  about  the  silver  mountain!'" 

"Well,"  said  the  King,  "how  did  they  de- 
cide?" 

"They  did  as  their  pastor  wished,"  said  the 


I20  THE  SILVER  MINE 

parson.  "They  understood  that  he  meant  well 
by  them  when  he  wanted  to  remain  poor  for 
their  sakes.  And  they  commissioned  him  to  go 
to  the  forest  and  conceal  the  vein  of  ore  with 
evergreen  and  stone,  so  that  no  one  would  be 
able  to  find  it  —  neither  they  themselves  nor 
their  posterity." 

"And  ever  since  the  parson  has  been  living 
here  just  as  poor  as  the  rest?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  curate,  "he  has  lived 
here  just  as  poor  as  the  rest." 

"He  has  married,  of  course,  and  built  himself 
a  new  parsonage?"  said  the  King. 

"No,  he  couldn't  afford  to  marry,  and  he 
lives  in  the  old  cabin." 

"It 's  a  pretty  story  that  you  have  told  me," 
said  the  King.  After  a  few  seconds  he  resumed: 
"Was  it  of  the  silver  mountain  that  you  were 
thinking  when  you  said  that  the  parson  here 
would  be  able  to  procure  for  me  as  much  money 
as  I  need?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  other. 

"But  I  can't  put  the  thumb-screws  on  him," 
said  the  King.  "Or  how  would  you  that  I 
should  get  such  a  man  to  show  me  the  moun- 
tain —  a  man  who  has  renounced  his  sweet- 
heart and  all  the  allurements  of  Hfe  ?  " 

"Oh,   that 's  a  different  matter,"   said  the 


THE  SILVER  MINE  1 21 

parson.  "But  if  it 's  the  Fatherland  that  is  in 
need  of  the  fortune,  he  will  probably  give  in." 

"Will  you  answer  for  that?"  asked  the  King.  . 

"Yes,  that  I  will  answer  for,"  said  the  clergy- 
man. 

"Doesn't  he  care,  then,  what  becomes  of  his 
parishioners?" 

"That  can  rest  in  God's  hand." 

The  King  rose  from  the  chair  and  walked  over 
to  the  window.  He  stood  for  a  moment  and 
looked  upon  the  group  of  people  outside.  The 
longer  he  looked,  the  clearer  his  large  eyes  shone, 
and  his  figure  seemed  to  grow.  "You  may  greet 
the  pastor  of  this  congregation,  and  say  that  for 
Sweden's  King  there  is  no  sight  more  beautiful 
than  to  see  a  people  such  as  this!" 

Then  the  King  turned  from  the  window  and 
looked  at  the  clerg^Tnan.  He  began  to  smile. 
"  Is  it  true  that  the  pastor  of  this  parish  is  so  poor 
that  he  removes  his  black  clothes  as  soon  as  the 
service  is  over  and  dresses  himself  like  a  peas- 
ant?" asked  the  King. 

"Yes,  so  poor  is  he,"  said  the  curate,  and  a 
crimson  flush  leaped  into  his  rough-hewn  face. 

The  King  went  back  to  the  window.  One 
could  see  that  he  was  in  his  best  mood.  All  that 
was  noble  and  great  within  him  had  been  quick- 
ened into  life.    "You  must  let  that  mine  he  in 


122  THE  SILVER  MINE 

peace,"  said  the  King.  "Inasmuch  as  you  have 
labored  and  starved  a  lifetime  to  make  this 
people  such  as  you  would  have  it,  you  may  keep 
it  as  it  is." 

"But  if  the  kingdom  is  in  danger?"  said  the 
parson. 

"The  kingdom  is  better  served  with  men  than 
with  money,"  remarked  the  King.  When  he 
had  said  this,  he  bade  the  clergyman  farewell 
and  went  out  from  the  vestry. 

Without  stood  the  group  of  people,  as  quiet 
and  taciturn  as  they  were  when  he  went  in. 
As  the  King  came  down  the  steps,  a  peasant 
stepped  up  to  him. 

"Have  you  had  a  talk  with  our  pastor?"  said 
the  peasant. 

"Yes,"  said  the  King.  "I  have  talked  with 
him." 

"Then  of  course  you  have  our  answer?"  said 
the  peasant.  "We  asked  you  to  go  in  and  talk 
with  our  parson,  that  he  might  give  you  an  an- 
swer from  us." 

"I  have  the  answer,"  said  the  King. 


The  Airship 


The   Airship 


Fathzr  and  the  boys  are  seated  one  rainy  Octo- 
ber evening  in  a  third-class  railway  coach  on 
their  way  to  Stockholm.  The  father  is  sitting 
by  himself  on  one  bench,  and  the  boys  sit  close 
together  directly  opposite  him,  reading  a  Jules 
Verne  romance  entitled  "Six  Weeks  in  a  Bal- 
loon." The  book  is  much  worn.  The  boys 
know  it  almost  by  heart  and  have  held  endless 
discussions  on  it,  but  they  always  read  it  with 
the  same  pleasure.  They  have  forgotten  every- 
thing else  to  follow  the  daring  sailors  of  the  air 
all  over  Africa,  and  seldom  raise  their  eyes  from 
the  book  to  glance  at  the  Swedish  towns  they 
are  travelling  through. 

The  boys  are  very  like  each  other.  They  are 
the  same  height,  are  dressed  alike,  with  blue 
caps  and  gray  overcoats,  and  both  have  large 
dreamy  eyes  and  little  pug  noses.  They  are 
always  good  friends,  always  together,  do  not 
bother  with  other  children,  and  are  forever  talk- 
ing about  inventions  and  exploring  expeditions. 
In  point  of  talent  they  are  quite  unlike.    Len- 


126  THE  AIRSHIP 

nart,  the  elder,  who  is  thirteen,  is  backward  in 
his  studies  at  the  High  School  and  can  hardly 
keep  up  with  his  class  in  any  theme.  To  make 
up  for  this,  he  is  very  handy  and  enterprising. 
He  is  going  to  be  an  inventor  and  works  all  the 
time  on  a  flying-machine  which  he  is  construct- 
ing. Hugo  is  a  year  younger  than  Leimart,  but 
he  is  quicker  at  study  and  is  already  in  the  same 
grade  as  his  brother.  He  does  n't  find  studying 
any  special  fun,  either;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  is  a  great  sportsman  —  a  ski-runner,  a 
cyclist,  and  a  skater.  He  intends  to  start  out  on 
voyages  of  discovery  when  he  is  grown  up.  As 
soon  as  Lennart's  airship  is  ready,  Hugo  is  going 
to  travel  in  it  in  order  to  explore  what  is  still 
left  of  this  globe  to  be  discovered. 

Their  father  is  a  tall  thin  man  with  a  sunken 
chest,  a  haggard  face,  and  pretty,  slender  hands. 
He  is  carelessly  dressed.  His  shirt  bosom  is 
wrinkled  and  the  coat  band  pokes  up  at  the  neck; 
his  vest  is  buttoned  wrongly  and  his  socks  sag 
down  over  his  shoes.  He  wears  his  hair  so  long 
at  the  neck  that  it  hangs  on  his  coat  collar.  This 
is  due  not  to  carelessness,  but  to  habit  and  taste. 

The  father  is  a  descendant  of  an  old  musical 
family  from  far  back  in  a  rural  district,  and  he 
has  brought  with  him  into  the  world  two  strong 
inclinations,  one  of  which  is  a  great  musical 


THE  AIRSHIP  127 

talent;  and  it  was  this  that  first  came  into  the 
light.  He  was  graduated  from  the  Academy  in 
Stockholm  and  then  studied  a  few  years  abroad, 
and  during  these  study  years  made  such  brilliant 
progress  that  both  he  and  his  teacher  thought  he 
would  some  day  be  a  great  and  world-renowned 
violinist.  He  certainly  had  talent  enough  to 
reach  the  goal,  but  he  lacked  grit  and  perse- 
verance. He  could  n't  fight  his  way  to  any  sort 
of  standing  out  in  the  world,  but  soon  came 
home  again  and  accepted  a  situation  as  organist 
in  a  country  town.  At  the  start  he  felt  ashamed 
because  he  had  not  lived  up  to  the  expectations 
of  every  one,  but  he  felt,  also,  that  it  was  good  to 
have  an  assured  income  and  not  be  forced  to 
depend  any  longer  upon  the  charity  of  others. 

Shortly  after  he  had  got  the  appointment,  he 
married,  and  a  few  years  later  he  was  perfectly 
satisfied  with  his  lot.  He  had  a  pretty  little 
home,  a  cheerful  and  contented  wife,  and  two 
little  boys.  He  was  the  town  favorite,  feted,  and 
in  great  demand  everywhere.  But  then  there 
came  a  time  when  all  this  did  not  seem  to  satisfy 
him.  He  longed  to  go  out  in  the  world  once 
more  and  try  his  luck;  but  he  felt  bound  down 
at  home  because  he  had  a  wife  and  children. 

More  than  all,  it  was  the  wife  who  had  per- 
suaded him  to  give  up  this  journey.    She  had 


128  THE  AIRSHIP 

not  believed  that  he  would  succeed  any  better 
now  than  before.  She  felt  they  were  so  happy 
that  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  strive  after 
anything  else.  Unquestionably  she  made  a 
mistake  in  this  instance,  but  she  also  lived  to 
regret  it  bitterly,  for,  from  that  time  on,  the 
other  family  trait  showed  itself.  When  his 
yearning  for  success  and  fame  was  not  satisfied, 
he  tried  to  console  himself  with  drinking. 

Now  it  turned  out  with  him,  as  was  usual 
with  folk  of  his  family  —  he  drank  inordinately. 
By  degrees  he  became  an  entirely  different  per- 
son. He  was  no  longer  charming  or  lovable, 
but  harsh  and  cruel;  and  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune of  all  was  that  he  conceived  a  terrible 
hatred  for  his  wife  and  tortured  her  in  every 
conceivable  way,  both  when  he  was  drunk  and 
when  he  was  n't. 

So  the  boys  did  not  have  a  good  home,  and 
their  childhood  would  have  been  very  unhappy 
had  they  not  been  able  to  create  for  themselves 
a  little  world  of  their  own,  filled  with  machine 
models,  exploring  schemes,  and  books  of  adven- 
ture. The  only  one  who  has  ever  caught  a 
ghmpse  of  this  world  is  the  mother.  The  father 
has  n't  even  a  suspicion  of  its  existence,  nor  can 
he  talk  with  the  boys  about  anything  that  in- 
terests them.    He  disturbs  them,  time  and  again, 


THE  AIRSHIP  129 

by  asking  if  they  don't  think  it  will  be  fun  to  see 
Stockholm;  if  they  are  not  glad  to  be  out  trav- 
elling with  father,  and  other  things  in  that  way, 
to  which  the  boys  give  brief  replies,  in  order  that 
they  may  immediately  bury  themselves  in  the 
book  again.  Nevertheless  the  father  continues 
to  question  the  boys.  He  thinks  they  are 
charmed  with  his  affability,  although  they  are 
too  bashful  to  show  it. 

"They  have  been  too  long  under  petticoat 
rule,"  he  thinks.  "They  have  become  timid 
and  namby-pamby.  There  will  be  some  go  in 
them  now,  when  I  take  them  in  hand." 

Father  is  mistaken.  It  is  not  because  the  boys 
are  bashful  that  they  answer  him  so  briefly;  it 
simply  shows  that  they  are  well  brought  up  and 
do  not  wish  to  hurt  his  feelings.  If  they  were 
not  polite,  they  would  answer  him  in  a  very 
different  manner.  "Why  should  we  think  it  fun 
to  be  travelling  with  father?"  they  would  then 
say.  "Father  must  think  himself  something 
wonderful,  but  we  know,  of  course,  that  he  is 
only  a  poor  wreck  of  a  man.  And  why  should 
we  be  glad  to  see  Stockholm?  We  understand 
very  well  that  it  is  not  for  our  sakes  that  father 
has  taken  us  along,  but  only  to  make  mother 
unhappy!" 

It  would  be  wiser,  no  doubt,  if  the  father 

9 


I30  THE  AIRSHIP 

were  to  let  the  boys  read  without  interrupting 
them.  They  are  sad  and  apprehensive,  and  it 
irritates  them  to  see  him  in  a  good  humor. 
"It  is  only  because  he  knows  that  mother  is 
sitting  at  home  crying  that  he  is  so  happy  to- 
day," they  whisper  to  each  other. 

Father's  questions  finally  bring  matters  to 
this  pass:  the  boys  read  no  more,  although  they 
continue  to  sit  bent  over  the  book.  Instead, 
their  thoughts  begin  in  bitterness  to  embrace  all 
that  they  have  had  to  endure  on  their  father's 
account. 

They  remember  the  time  when  he  drank 
himself  full  in  the  morning  and  came  staggering 
up  the  street,  with  a  crowd  of  school  boys  after 
him,  who  poked  fun  at  him.  They  recall  how 
the  other  boys  teased  them  and  gave  them  nick- 
names because  they  had  a  father  who  drank. 

They  have  been  put  to  shame  for  their  father. 
They  have  been  forced  to  live  in  a  state  of  con- 
stant anxiety  for  his  sake,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  having  any  enjoyment,  he  always  came 
and  spoiled  their  fun.  It  is  no  small  register  of 
sins  that  they  are  setting  down  against  him! 
The  boys  are  very  meek  and  patient,  but  they 
feel  a  greater  and  greater  wrath  springing  up 
in  them. 

He  should  at  least  understand  that,  as  yet, 


THE  AIRSniP  131 

they  cannot  forgive  him  for  the  great  wrong  he 
did  them  yesterday.  This  was  by  far  the  worst 
wrong  he  had  ever  done  them. 

It  seems  that,  last  year,  mother  and  the  boys 
decided  to  part  from  father.  For  a  number  of 
years  he  had  been  persecuting  and  torturing  her 
in  every  possible  way,  but  she  was  loath  to  part 
from  him  and  remained,  so  that  he  would  n't  go 
altogether  to  rack  and  ruin.  But  now,  at  last,  she 
wanted  to  do  it  for  the  sake  of  her  boys.  She 
had  noticed  that  their  father  made  them  un- 
happy, and  realized  that  she  must  take  them 
away  from  this  misery  and  provide  them  with 
a  good  and  peaceable  home. 

When  the  spring  school-term  was  over,  she  sent 
them  to  her  parents  in  the  country,  and  she  her- 
self went  abroad  in  order  to  obtain  a  divorce  in 
the  easiest  way  possible.  She  regretted  that,  by 
going  about  it  in  this  way,  it  would  appear  as 
though  it  were  her  fault  that  the  marriage  was 
dissolved;  but  that  she  must  submit  to.  She  was 
even  less  pleased  when  the  courts  turned  the  boys 
over  to  the  father  because  she  was  a  run-away 
wife.  She  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that 
he  could  n't  possibly  wish  to  keep  the  children; 
but  she  had  felt  quite  ill  at  ease. 

As  soon  as  the  divorce  was  settled,  she  came 
back  and  took  a  small  apartment  where  she  and 


132  THE  AIRSHIP 

the  boys  were  to  live.  In  two  days  she  had 
everything  in  readiness,  so  that  they  could  come 
home  to  her.  ^ 

It  was  the  happiest  day  the  boys  had  experi- 
enced. The  entire  apartment  consisted  of  one 
large  living-room  and  a  big  kitchen,  but  every- 
thing was  new  and  pretty,  and  mother  had  ar- 
ranged the  place  so  cosily.  The  big  room  she 
and  they  were  to  use  daytimes  as  a  work-room, 
and  nights  they  were  to  sleep  there.  The 
kitchen  was  light  and  comfortable.  There  they 
would  eat,  and  in  a  Uttle  closet  off  the  kitchen 
mother  had  her  bed. 

She  had  told  them  that  they  would  be  very 
poor.  She  had  secured  a  place  as  singing-teacher 
at  the  girls'  school,  and  this  was  all  they  had  to 
live  upon.  They  could  n't  afford  to  keep  a  ser- 
vant, but  must  get  along  all  by  themselves.  The 
boys  were  in  ecstasies  over  everything  —  most 
of  all,  because  they  might  help  along.  They 
volunteered  to  carry  water  and  wood.  They 
were  to  brush  their  own  shoes  and  make  their 
own  beds.  It  was  only  fun  to  think  up  all  that 
they  were  going  to  do! 

There  was  a  little  wardrobe,  in  which  Lennart 
was  to  keep  all  his  mechanical  apparatus.  He 
was  to  have  the  key  himself,  and  no  one  but 
Hugo  and  he  should  ever  go  in  there. 


THE  AIRSHIP  133 

But  the  boys  were  allowed  to  be  happy  with 
their  mother  only  for  a  single  day.  Afterwards 
their  father  spoiled  their  pleasure,  as  he  had 
always  done  as  far  back  as  they  could  remember. 
Mother  told  them  she  had  heard  that  their 
father  had  received  a  legacy  of  a  few  thousand 
kronor,  and  that  he  had  resigned  from  his  posi- 
tion as  organist  and  was  going  to  move  to 
Stockholm.  Both  they  and  mother  were  glad 
that  he  was  leaving  town,  so  they  would  escape 
meeting  him  on  the  streets.  And  then  a  friend 
of  father's  had  called  on  mother  to  tell  her  that 
father  wanted  to  take  the  boys  with  him  to 
Stockholm. 

Mother  had  wept  and  begged  that  she  might 
keep  her  boys,  but  father's  messenger  had  an- 
swered her  that  her  husband  was  determined  to 
have  the  boys  under  his  guardianship.  If  they 
did  not  come  wilUngly,  he  would  let  the  poHce 
fetch  them.  He  bade  mother  read  through  the 
divorce  papers,  and  there  it  said  plainly  that 
the  boys  would  belong  to  their  father.  This,  of 
course,  she  already  knew.  It  was  not  to  be 
gainsaid. 

Father's  friend  had  said  many  nice  things  of 
father  and  had  told  her  of  how  much  he  loved 
his  sons,  and  for  this  reason  he  wanted  them  to 
be  with  him.    But  the  boys  knew  that  father 


134  THE  AIRSHIP 

was  taking  them  away  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
torturing  mother.  She  would  have  to  live  in  a 
state  of  continual  anxiety  for  them.  The  whole 
thing  was  nothing  but  malice  and  revenge! 

But  father  had  his  own  way,  and  here  they 
were  now,  on  their  way  to  Stockholm.  And 
right  opposite  them  their  father  sits,  rejoicing 
in  the  thought  that  he  has  made  their  mother 
unhappy.  With  every  second  that  passes,  the 
thought  of  having  to  live  with  father  becomes 
more  repellent.  Are  they  then  wholly  in  his 
power?    Will  there  be  no  help  for  this? 

Father  leans  back  in  his  seat,  and  after  a  bit 
he  falls  asleep.  Immediately  the  boys  begin 
whispering  to  each  other  very  earnestly.  It 
isn't  difficult  for  them  to  come  to  a  decision. 
The  whole  day  they  have  been  sitting  there 
thinking  that  they  ought  to  run  away.  They 
conclude  to  steal  out  on  the  platform  and  to 
jump  from  the  train  when  it  goes  through  a  big 
forest.  Then  they  will  build  them  a  hut  in  the 
most  secluded  spot  in  the  forest,  and  live  all  by 
themselves  and  never  show  themselves  to  a 
human  being. 

While  the  boys  are  laying  their  plans,  the 
train  stops  at  a  station,  and  a  peasant  woman, 
leading  a  Uttle  boy  by  the  hand,  comes  into  the 
coupe.    She  is  dressed  in  black,  with  a  shawl 


THE  AIRSHIP  135 

on  her  head,  and  has  a  kind  and  friendly  ap- 
pearance. She  removes  the  little  one's  overcoat, 
which  is  wet  from  the  rain,  and  wraps  a  shawl 
around  him.  Then  she  takes  off  his  shoes  and 
stockings,  dries  his  little  cold  feet,  takes  from  a 
bundle  dry  shoes  and  stockings  and  puts  them 
on  him.  Then  she  gives  him  a  stick  of  candy 
and  lays  him  down  on  the  seat  with  his  head 
resting  on  her  lap,  that  he  might  sleep. 

First  one  boy,  then  the  other  casts  a  glance 
over  at  the  peasant  woman.  These  glances 
become  more  frequent,  and  suddenly  the  eyes 
of  both  boys  fill  with  tears.  Then  they  look  up 
no  more,  but  keep  their  eyes  obstinately  lowered. 

It  seems  that  when  the  peasant  woman  en- 
tered some  one  else  —  some  one  who  was  in- 
visible and  imperceptible  to  all  save  the  boys  — 
came  into  the  coupe.  The  boys  fancied  that  she 
came  and  sat  down  between  them  and  took  their 
hands  in  hers,  as  she  had  done  late  last  night, 
when  it  was  settled  that  they  must  leave  her; 
and  she  was  talking  to  them  now  as  she  did  then. 
"  You  must  promise  me  that  you  will  not  be 
angry  with  father  for  my  sake.  Father  has 
never  been  able  to  forgive  me  for  preventing 
him  from  going  abroad.  He  thinks  it  is  my 
fault  that  he  has  never  amounted  to  anything 
and  that  he  drinks.    He  can  never  punish  me 


136  THE  AIRSHIP 

enough.  But  you  must  n't  be  angry  at  him  on 
that  account.  Now,  when  you  are  to  live  with 
father,  you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  be 
kind  to  him.  You  mustn't  quarrel  with  him 
and  you  are  to  look  after  his  needs  as  well  as 
you  can.  This  you  must  promise  me,  otherwise 
I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever  let  you  go."  And 
the  boys  promised.  "  You  must  n't  run  away 
from  father,  promise  me  that!"  mother  had 
said.    That  they  had  also  promised. 

The  boys  are  as  good  as  their  word,  and  the 
instant  they  happen  to  think  that  they  had 
given  mother  these  promises,  they  abandon  all 
thought  of  flight.  Father  sleeps  all  the  while 
and  they  remain  patiently  in  their  places.  Then 
they  resume  their  reading  with  redoubled  zeal, 
and  their  friend,  the  good  Jules  Verne,  soon 
takes  them  away  from  many  heavy  sorrows  to 
Africa's  happy  wonder  world. 

Far  out  on  the  south  side  of  the  city,  father 
has  rented  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen  on  the 
ground  floor,  with  an  entrance  from  the  court 
and  an  outlook  over  a  narrow  yard.  The  apart- 
ment has  long  been  in  use;  it  has  gone  from 
family  to  family,  without  ever  having  been  reno- 
vated. The  wall  paper  is  full  of  tears  and  spots; 
the  ceilings  are  sooty;  a  couple  of  window-panes 
are  cracked,  and  the  kitchen  floor  is  so  worn 


THE  AIRSHIP     ■  137 

that  it  is  full  of  ruts.  Expressmen  have  brought 
the  furniture  cases  from  the  railway  station 
and  have  left  them  there,  helter  skelter. 
Father  and  the  boys  are  now  unpacking.  Father 
stands  with  axe  raised  to  hack  open  a  box.  The 
boys  are  taking  out  glass  and  porcelain  ware 
from  another  box,  and  are  arranging  them  in  a 
wall  cupboard.  They  are  handy  and  work 
eagerly,  but  the  father  never  stops  cautioning 
them  to  be  careful,  and  forbids  their  carrying 
more  than  one  glass  or  plate  at  a  time.  Mean- 
while it  goes  slowly  with  father's  own  work. 
His  hands  are  fumbly  and  powerless,  and  he 
works  himself  into  a  sweat  without  getting  the 
lock  off  the  box.  He  lays  down  the  axe,  walks 
around  the  box,  and  wonders  if  it 's  the  bottom 
that  is  uppermost.  Then  one  of  the  boys  takes 
hold  of  the  axe  and  begins  to  bend  the  lock,  but 
father  pushes  him  aside.  "  That  lock  is  nailed 
down  too  hard.  Surely  you  don't  imagine  that 
you  can  force  the  lock  when  father  could  n't  do 
it?  Only  a  regular  workman  can  open  that  box," 
says  father,  putting  on  his  hat  and  coat  to  go 
and  fetch  the  janitor. 

Father  is  hardly  outside  the  door  when  an  idea 
strikes  him.  Instantly  he  understands  why  he 
has  no  strength  in  his  hands.  It  is  still  quite 
early  in  the  morning  and  he  has  not  consumed 


138  THE  AIRSHIP 

anything  which  could  set  the  blood  in  motion. 
If  he  were  to  step  into  a  cafe  and  have  a  cognac, 
he  would  get  back  his  strength  and  could  man- 
age without  help.  This  is  better  than  calling 
the  janitor. 

Then  father  goes  into  the  street  to  try  and 
hunt  up  a  cafe.  When  he  returns  to  the  Uttle 
apartment  on  the  court,  it  is  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening. 

In  father's  youth,  when  he  attended  the  Acad- 
emy, he  had  lived  at  the  south  end  of  the  city. 
He  was  then  a  member  of  a  double  quartette, 
mostly  made  up  of  choristers  and  petty  trades- 
men, who  used  to  meet  in  a  cellar  near  Mose- 
backe.  Father  had  taken  a  notion  to  go  and  see 
if  the  little  cellar  was  still  there.  It  was,  in  fact, 
and  father  had  the  luck  to  run  across  a  pair  of 
old  comrades  who  were  seated  there  having 
their  breakfast.  They  had  received  him  with 
the  greatest  delight,  had  invited  him  to  break- 
fast, and  had  celebrated  his  advent  in  Stockholm 
in  the  friendliest  way  possible.  When  the 
breakfast  was  over,  finally,  father  wanted  to  go 
home  and  unpack  his  furniture,  but  his  friends 
persuaded  him  to  remain  and  take  dinner  with 
them.  This  function  was  so  long  drawn  out  that 
he  hadn't  been  able  to  go  home  until  around 
eight  o'clock.    And  it  had  cost  him  more  than  a 


THE  AIRSHIP  139 

slight  effort  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  lively 
place  that  early. 

When  father  comes  home,  the  boys  are  in  the 
dark,  for  they  have  no  matches.  Father  has  a 
match  in  his  pocket,  and  when  he  has  lighted  a 
httle  stump  of  a  candle,  which  luckily  had 
come  along  wdth  their  furnishings,  he  sees  that 
the  boys  are  hot  and  dusty,  but  well  and  happy 
and  apparently  very  well  pleased  with  their 
day. 

In  the  rooms  the  furniture  is  arranged  along- 
side the  walls,  the  boxes  have  been  removed  and 
straw  and  papers  have  been  swept  away.  Hugo 
is  just  turning  down  the  boys'  beds  in  the  outer 
room.  The  inner  room  is  to  be  father's  bedroom, 
and  there  stands  his  bed,  turned  down  with  as 
great  care  as  he  could  possibly  wish. 

Now  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  possesses 
him.  When  he  came  home,  he  was  displeased 
with  himself  because  he  had  gone  away  from  his 
work  and  had  left  the  boys  without  food;  but 
now,  when  he  sees  that  they  are  in  good  spirits 
and  not  in  any  distress,  he  regrets  that,  for  their 
sakes,  he  should  have  left  his  friends;  and  he 
becomes  irritable  and  quarrelsome. 

He  sees,  no  doubt,  that  the  boys  are  proud  of 
all  the  work  they  have  accomplished  and  ex- 
pect him  to  praise  them;   but  this  he  is  not  at 


140  THE  AIRSHIP 

all  inclined  to  do.  Instead,  he  asks  who  has 
been  here  and  helped  them,  and  begs  them  to 
remember  that  here  in  Stockholm  one  gets 
nothing  without  money,  and  that  the  janitor 
must  be  paid  for  all  he  does.  The  boys  answer 
that  they  have  had  no  assistance  and  have  got 
on  by  themselves.  But  father  continues  to 
grumble.  It  was  wrong  of  them  to  open  the 
big  box.  They  might  have  hurt  themselves  on 
it.  Had  he  not  forbidden  them  to  open  it? 
Now  they  would  have  to  obey  him.  He  is  the 
one  who  must  answer  for  their  welfare. 

He  takes  the  candle,  goes  out  into  the  kitchen, 
and  peeps  into  the  cupboards.  The  scanty  sup- 
ply of  glass  and  porcelain  is  arranged  on  the 
shelves  in  an  orderly  manner.  He  scrutinizes 
everything  very  carefully  to  find  an  excuse  for 
further  complaint. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  catches  sight  of  some  leav- 
ings from  the  boys'  supper,  and  begins  immedi- 
ately to  grumble  because  they  have  had  chicken. 
Where  did  they  get  it  from?  Do  they  think  of 
living  hke  princes?  Is  it  his  money  they  are 
throwing  away  on  chicken?  Then  he  remem- 
bers that  he  had  not  left  them  any  money.  He 
wonders  if  they  have  stolen  the  chicken  and  be- 
comes perturbed.  He  preaches  and  admonishes, 
scolds  and  fusses,  but  now  he  gets  no  response 


THE  AIRSHIP  141 

from  the  boys.  They  do  not  bother  themselves 
about  telling  him  where  they  got  the  chicken, 
but  let  him  go  on.  He  makes  long  speeches 
and  exhausts  his  forces.  Finally  he  begs  and 
implores. 

"I  beseech  you  to  tell  me  the  truth.  I  will 
forgive  you,  no  matter  what  you  have  done,  if 
you  will  only  tell  me  the  truth!" 

Now  the  boys  can  hold  in  no  longer.  Father 
hears  a  spluttering  sound.  They  throw  off  the 
quilts  and  sit  up,  and  he  notices  that  they  are 
purple  in  the  face  from  suppressed  laughter. 
And  as  they  can  laugh  now  without  restraint, 
Lennart  says  between  the  paroxysms,  "Mother 
put  a  chicken  in  the  food  sack  which  she  gave  us 
when  we  left  home." 

Father  draws  himself  up,  looks  at  the  boys, 
wants  to  speak,  but  finds  no  suitable  words. 
He  becomes  even  more  majestic  in  his  bearing, 
looks  with  withering  scorn  at  them,  and  goes  to 
his  room  without  further  parley. 

It  has  dawned  upon  father  how  handy  the 
boys  are,  and  he  makes  use  of  this  fact  to  escape 
hiring  servants.  Mornings  he  sends  Lennart 
into  the  kitchen  to  make  coffee  and  lets  Hugo 
lay  the  breakfast-table  and  fetch  bread  from  the 
baker's.    After  breakfast  he  sits  down  on  a  chair 


142  THE  AIRSHIP 

and  watches  how  the  boys  make  up  the  beds, 
sweep  the  floors,  and  build  a  fire  in  the  grate. 
He  gives  endless  orders  and  sends  them  from 
one  task  to  another,  only  to  show  his  authority. 
When  the  morning  chores  are  over,  he  goes  out 
and  remains  away  all  the  forenoon.  The  dirmer 
he  lets  them  fetch  from  a  cooking-school  in  the 
neighborhood.  After  dinner  he  leaves  the  boys 
for  the  evening,  and  exacts  nothing  more  of 
them  than  that  his  bed  shall  be  turned  down 
when  he  comes  home. 

The  boys  are  practically  alone  almost  the  en- 
tire day  and  can  busy  themselves  in  any  way 
they  choose. 

One  of  their  most  important  tasks  is  to  write 
to  their  mother.  They  get  letters  from  her  every 
day,  and  she  sends  them  paper  and  postage,  so 
that  they  can  answer  her.  Mother's  letters  are 
mostly  admonitions  that  they  shall  be  good  to 
their  father.  She  writes  constantly  of  how  lov- 
able father  was  when  she  first  knew  him,  of  how 
industrious  and  thrifty  he  was  at  the  beginning 
of  his  career.  They  must  be  tender  and  kind  to 
him.  They  must  never  forget  how  unhappy  he 
is.  ''If  you  are  very  good  to  father,  perhaps  he 
may  feel  sorry  for  you  and  let  you  come  home 
to  me." 

Mother  tells  them  that  she  has  called  to  see 


THE  AIRSHIP  143 

the  dean  and  the  burgomaster  to  ask  if  it  were 
not  possible  to  get  back  the  boys.  Both  of  them 
had  replied  that  there  was  no  help  for  her.  The 
boys  would  have  to  stay  with  their  father. 
Mother  wants  to  move  to  Stockholm  that  she 
may  see  her  boys  once  in  a  while,  at  least,  but 
every  one  advises  her  to  have  patience  and 
abide  her  time.  They  think  father  will  soon 
tire  of  the  boys  and  send  them  home.  Mother 
does  n't  quite  know  what  she  should  do.  On 
the  one  hand  she  thinks  it  dreadful  that  the 
boys  are  living  in  Stockholm  with  no  one  to 
look  after  them,  and  on  the  other  hand  she 
knows  that  if  she  were  to  leave  her  home  and 
her  work,  she  could  not  take  them  and  support 
them,  even  if  they  were  freed.  But  for  Christ- 
mas, at  all  events,  mother  is  coming  to  Stock- 
holm to  look  after  them. 

The  boys  write  and  tell  her  what  they  do  all 
day,  hour  by  hour.  They  let  mother  know  that 
they  cook  for  father  and  make  his  bed.  She  ap- 
prehends that  they  are  trying  to  be  kind  to  him 
for  her  sake,  but  she  probably  perceives  that 
they  like  him  no  better  now  than  formerly. 

Her  little  boys  appear  to  be  always  alone. 
They  live  in  a  large  city,  where  there  are  lots  of 
people,  but  no  one  asks  after  them.  And  per- 
haps it  is  better   thus.     Who    can  tell  what 


144  THE  AIRSHIP 

might  happen  to  them  were  they  to  make  any 
acquaintances? 

They  always  beg  of  her  not  to  be  uneasy  about 
them.  They  tell  how  they  darn  their  stockings 
and  sew  on  their  buttons.  They  also  intimate 
that  Lennart  has  made  great  headway  with  his 
invention  and  say  that  when  this  is  finished  all 
will  be  well. 

Mother  lives  in  a  state  of  continual  fear. 
Night  and  day  her  thoughts  are  with  her  boys. 
Night  and  day  she  prays  God  to  watch  over  her 
little  sons,  who  live  alone  in  a  great  city,  with 
no  one  to  shield  them  from  the  temptations  of 
the  destroyer,  and  to  keep  their  young  hearts 
from  the  desire  for  evil. 

Father  and  the  boys  are  sitting  one  morning 
at  the  Opera.  One  of  father's  old  comrades,  who 
is  with  the  Royal  Orchestra,  has  invited  him  to 
be  present  at  a  symphony  rehearsal,  and  father 
has  taken  the  boys  along.  When  the  orchestra 
strikes  up  and  the  auditorium  is  filled  with  tone, 
father  is  so  affected  that  he  can't  control  him- 
self, and  begins  to  weep.  He  sobs  and  blows  his- 
nose  and  moans  aloud,  time  and  again.  He  puts 
no  restraint  upon  his  feelings,  but  makes  such 
a  noise  that  the  musicians  are  disturbed.  A 
guard  comes  along  and  beckons  him  away,  and 


THE  AIRSHIP  145 

father  takes  the  boys  by  the  hand  and  slinks  out 
without  a  word  of  protest.  All  the  way  home 
his  tears  continue  to  flow. 

Father  is  walking  on,  with  a  boy  on  each 
side,  and  he  has  kept  their  hands  in  his  all  the 
while.  Suddenly  the  boys  start  crying.  They 
understand  now  for  the  first  time  how  much 
father  has  loved  his  art.  It  was  painful  for  him 
to  sit  there,  besotten  and  broken,  and  listen  to 
others  playing.  They  feel  sorry  for  him  who 
had  never  become  what  he  might  have  been.  It 
was  with  father  as  it  might  be  with  Lennart 
were  he  never  to  finish  his  flying-machine,  or 
with  Hugo  if  he  were  not  to  make  any  voyages 
of  discovery.  Think  if  they  should  one  day  sit 
like  old  good-for-nothings  and  see  fine  airships 
sailing  over  their  heads  which  they  had  not  in- 
vented and  were  not  allowed  to  pilot! 

The  boys  were  sitting  one  morning  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  writing-table.  Father  had  taken  a 
music  roll  under  his  arm  and  gone  out.  He  had 
mumbled  something  about  giving  a  music  les- 
son, but  the  boys  had  not  for  a  moment  been 
tempted  into  believing  this  true. 

Father  is  in  an  ugly  mood  as  he  walks  up  the 
street.  He  noticed  the  look  the  boys  exchanged 
when  he  said  that  he  was  going  to  a  music  les- 

10 


146  THE  AIRSHIP 

son.  "  They  are  setting  themselves  up  as  judges 
of  their  father,"  he  thinks.  "  I  am  too  indul- 
gent toward  them.  I  should  have  given  them 
each  a  sound  box  on  the  ear.  It 's  their  mother, 
I  dare  say,  who  is  setting  them  against  me. 
Suppose  I  were  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  fine  gentle- 
men? "  he  continues.  "  It  would  do  no  harm 
to  find  out  how  they  attend  to  their  lessons." 

He  turns  back,  walks  quietly  across  the  court, 
opens  the  door  very  softly,  and  stands  in  the 
boys'  room  without  either  of  them  having  heard 
him  coming.  The  boys  jump  up,  red  in  the  face, 
and  Lennart  quickly  snatches  a  bundle  of  papers 
which  he  throws  into  the  table  drawer. 

When  the  boys  had  been  in  Stockholm  a  day 
or  two,  they  had  asked  which  school  they  were 
to  attend,  and  the  father  had  replied  that  their 
school-going  days  were  over  now.  He  would 
try  and  procure  a  private  tutor  who  would 
teach  them.  This  proposition  he  had  never  car- 
ried into  effect,  nor  had  the  boys  said  anything 
more  about  going  to  school.  But  in  less  than  a 
week  a  school  chart  was  discovered  hanging  on 
the  wall  in  the  boys'  room.  The  school  books 
had  been  brought  forth,  and  every  morning  they 
sat  on  opposite  sides  of  an  old  writing-table  and 
studied  their  lessons  aloud.  It  was  evident  that 
they  had   received  letters  from  their  mother 


THE  AIRSHIP  147 

counselling  them  to  try  and  study,  so  as  not  to 
forget  entirely  what  they  had  learned. 

Now,  as  father  unexpectedly  comes  into  the 
room,  he  goes  up  to  the  chart  first  and  studies 
it.  He  takes  out  his  watch  and  compares. 
"  Wednesday,  between  ten  and  eleven.  Ge- 
ography." Then  he  comes  up  to  the  table. 
"  Should  n't  you  have  geography  at  this  hour?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  boys  reply,  growing  flame-red  in 
the  face. 

"  Have  you  the  geography  and  the  map?  " 

The  boys  glance  over  at  the  book  shelf  and 
look  confused.  "  We  have  n't  begun  yet,"  says 
Lennart. 

"Indeed!"  says  father.  "You  must  have 
been  up  to  something  else."  He  straightens  up, 
thoroughly  pleased  with  himself.  He  has  an 
advantage,  which  he  does  n't  care  to  let  go  until 
he  has  browbeaten  them  very  effectually. 

Both  boys  are  silent.  Ever  since  the  day  they 
accompanied  father  to  the  Opera,  they  have 
felt  sympathy  for  him,  and  it  has  not  been  such 
an  effort  for  them  to  be  kind  to  him  as  it  was 
before.  But,  naturally,  they  have  n't  for  a 
moment  thought  of  taking  father  into  their 
confidence.  He  has  not  risen  in  their  estimation 
although  they  are  sorry  for  him. 

"Were  you  writing  letters?"  father  asks  in 
his  severest  tone. 


148  THE  AIRSHIP 

"No,"  say  both  boys  at  the  same  time. 

"What  were  you  doing?" 

"Oh,  just  talking."  ^ 

"That  isn't  true.  I  saw  that  Lennart  hid 
something  in  the  drawer  of  the  table." 

Now  both  boys  are  mum  again. 

"Take  it  out!"  shouts  the  father,  purple  with 
rage.  He  thinks  the  sons  have  written  to  his  wife, 
and,  since  they  don't  care  to  show  the  letter,  of 
course  there  is  something  mean  about  him  in  it. 

The  boys  do  not  stir,  and  father  raises  his  hand 
to  strike  Lennart,  who  is  sitting  before  the  table 
drawer. 

"Don't  touch  him!"  cries  Hugo.  "We  were 
only  talking  over  something  which  Lennart  has 
invented." 

Hugo  pushes  Lennart  aside,  opens  the  drawer, 
and  pulls  out  the  paper,  which  is  scrawled  full 
of  airships  of  the  most  extraordinary  shapes. 
"Last  night  Lennart  thought  out  a  new  kind 
of  sail  for  his  airship.  It  was  of  this  we  were 
speaking." 

Father  would  n't  believe  him.  He  bends 
over,  searches  in  the  drawer,  but  finds  only 
sheets  of  paper  covered  with  drawings  of  bal- 
loons, parachutes,  flying-machines,  and  every- 
thing else  appertaining  to  air-sailing. 

To  the  great  surprise  of  the  boys,  father  does 


THE  AIRSHIP  149 

not  cast  this  aside  at  once,  nor  does  he  laugh  at 
their  attempts,  but  examines  closely  sheet  after 
sheet.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  father,  too,  has  a 
little  leaning  toward  mechanics,  and  was  inter- 
ested in  things  of  this  sort  in  days  gone  by,  when 
his  brain  was  still  good  for  something.  Soon  he 
begins  to  ask  questions  as  to  the  meaning  of  one 
thing  and  another,  and  inasmuch  as  his  words 
betray  that  he  is  deeply  interested  and  under- 
stands what  he  sees,  Lennart  fights  his  bashful- 
ness,  and  answers  him,  hesitatingly  at  first  and 
then  more  willingly. 

Soon  father  and  boys  are  absorbed  in  a  pro- 
found discussion  about  airships  and  air-sailing. 
After  they  are  fairly  well  started,  the  boys 
chatter  unreservedly  and  give  father  a  share  in 
their  plans  and  dreams  of  greatness.  And  while 
the  father  comprehends,  of  course,  that  the  boys 
cannot  fly  very  far  with  the  airship  which  they 
have  constructed,  he  is  very  much  impressed. 
His  httle  sons  talk  of  aluminum  motors,  aero- 
planes, and  balancers,  as  though  they  were  the 
simplest  things  in  the  world.  He  had  thought 
them  regular  blockheads  because  they  did  n't 
get  on  very  fast  at  school.  Now,  all  at  once,  he 
believes  they  are  a  pair  of  little  scientists. 

The  high-soaring  thoughts  and  aspirations 
father  understands  better  than  anything  else; 


ISO  THE  AIRSHIP 

he  cognizes  them.  He  himself  has  dreamed  in 
the  same  way,  and  he  has  no  desire  to  laugh  at 
such  dreams.  '^ 

Father  does  n't  go  out  again  that  morning, 
but  sits  and  chats  with  the  boys  until  it  is  time 
to  fetch  the  food  for  dinner  and  set  the  table. 
And  at  that  meal  father  and  the  boys  are 
real  good  friends,  to  their  great  and  mutual 
astonishment. 

The  hour  is  eleven  at  night,  and  father  is  stag- 
gering up  the  street.  The  Httle  boys  are  walk- 
ing on  either  side  of  him,  and  he  holds  their 
hands  tightly  clasped  in  his  all  the  while. 

They  have  sought  him  out  in  one  of  his 
haunts,  where  they  have  stationed  themselves 
just  inside  the  door.  Father  sits  by  himself  at  a 
table  with  a  big  brown  toddy  in  front  of  him, 
and  hstens  to  a  ladies'  orchestra  which  is 
playing  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall.  After  a 
moment's  hesitancy  he  rises  reluctantly  and 
goes  over  to  the  boys.  "What  is  it?"  he  asks. 
"Why  do  you  come  here?" 

"Father  was  to  come  home,"  they  say.  "This 
is  the  fifth  of  December.    Father  promised  —  " 

Then  he  remembers  that  Lennart  had  confided 
to  him  that  it  was  Hugo's  birthday  and  that  he 
had  promised  him  to  come  home  early.    But  this 


THE  AIRSHIP  151 

he  had  entirely  forgotten.  Hugo  was  probably 
expecting  a  birthday  present  from  him,  but  he 
had  not  remembered  to  get  him  one. 

At  any  rate,  he  has  gone  with  the  boys  and  is 
walking  along,  displeased  with  them  and  with 
himself.  When  he  comes  home,  the  birthday 
table  is  laid.  The  boys  had  wished  to  give  a 
httle  party.  Lennart  had  creamed  some  pan- 
cakes, which  are  now  a  few  hours  old  and  look 
like  pieces  of  leather.  They  had  received  a  Httle 
money  from  their  mother,  and  with  this  they 
had  bought  nuts,  raisins,  and  a  bottle  of  soda- 
water. 

This  fine  feast  they  did  not  care  to  enjoy  all  by 
themselves,  and  they  had  been  sitting  and  wait- 
ing for  father  to  come  home  and  share  it  with 
them.  Now,  since  they  and  father  have  become 
friends,  they  cannot  celebrate  such  a  big  event 
without  him.  Father  understands  it  all,  and  the 
thought  of  being  missed  flatters  him  and  puts  him 
in  a  fairly  good  humor.  Half  full  as  he  is,  he 
plumps  himself  down  at  the  table.  Just  as  he  is 
about  to  take  his  place  he  stumbles,  clutches  at 
the  table-cloth,  falls,  and  draws  down  on  the 
floor  everything  on  the  table.  As  he  raises  him- 
self, he  sees  how  the  soda  flows  out  over  the 
floor  and  pickles  and  pancakes  are  strewn  about 
among  bits  of  porcelain  and  broken  glass. 


152  THE  AIRSHIP 

Father  glances  at  the  boys'  long'  faces,  rips 
out  an  oath,  and  makes  a  rush  for  the  door,  and 
he  does  n't  come  back  home  until  on  towards 
morning. 

One  morning  in  February,  the  boys  are  coming 
up  the  street  with  their  skates  dangling  from 
their  shoulders.  They  are  not  quite  Hke  them- 
selves. They  have  grown  thin  and  pale  and  look 
untidy  and  uncared  for.  Their  hair  is  uncut; 
they  are  not  well  washed  and  they  have  holes  in 
both  stockings  and  shoes.  When  they  address 
each  other,  they  use  a  lot  of  street-boy  expres- 
sions, and  one  and  another  oath  escapes  from 
their  Hps. 

A  change  has  taken  place  in  the  boys.  It  had 
its  beginning  on  the  evening  when  their  father 
forgot  to  come  home  to  help  celebrate  Hugo's 
birthday.  It  was  as  if  until  that  time  they  had 
been  kept  up  by  the  hope  that  soon  their  father 
would  be  a  changed  man. 

At  first  they  had  counted  on  his  tiring  of  them 
and  sending  them  home.  Later,  they  had  fan- 
cied that  he  would  become  fond  of  them  and  give 
up  drinking  for  their  sakes,  and  they  had  even 
imagined  that  mother  and  he  might  become 
reconciled  and  that  all  of  them  would  be  happy. 
But  it  dawned  upon  them  that  night  that  father 


THE  AIRSHIP  153 

was  impossible.  He  could  love  nothing  but 
drink.  Even  if  he  were  kind  to  them  for  a  little 
while,  he  did  n't  really  care  for  them. 

A  heavy  hopelessness  fell  upon  the  boys; 
nothing  would  ever  be  changed  for  them.  They 
should  never  get  away  from  father.  They  felt 
as  though  they  were  doomed  to  sit  shut  in  a  dark 
prison  all  their  hves.  Not  even  their  great  plans 
for  the  future  could  comfort  them.  In  the  way 
that  they  were  bound  down,  these  plans  could 
never  be  carried  out.  Only  think,  they  were  not 
learning  anything!  They  knew  enough  of  the 
histories  of  great  men  to  know  that  he  who 
wants  to  accomplish  anything  noteworthy  must 
first  of  all  have  knowledge. 

Still  the  hardest  blow  was  that  mother  did  not 
come  to  them  at  Christmas.  In  the  beginning  of 
December  she  had  fallen  down  stairs  and  broken 
her  leg,  and  was  forced  to  lie  in  a  hospital  during 
the  Christmas  holidays,  therefore  she  could  not 
come  to  Stockholm.  Now  that  mother  was  up, 
her  school  had  begun  again.  Apart  from  this, 
she  had  no  money  with  which  to  travel.  The 
little  that  she  had  saved  was  spent  while  she 
lay  ill. 

The  boys  felt  themselves  deserted  by  the  whole 
world.  It  was  obvious  that  it  never  would  be 
any  better  for  them,  no  matter  how  good  they 


•  < 


154  THE  AIRSHIP 

were !  So,  gradually,  they  ceased  to  exert  them- 
selves with  the  sort  of  things  that  were  tiresome. 
They  might  just  as  well  do  that  which  amused 
them. 

The  boys  began  to  shirk  their  morning  studies. 
No  one  heard  their  lessons,  so  what  was  the  use 
of  their  studying?  There  had  been  good  skating 
for  a  couple  of  days  and  they  might  as  well  play 
truant  all  day.  On  the  ice  there  were  always 
throngs  of  boys,  and  they  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  number  who  also  preferred 
skating  to  being  shut  in  the  house  with  their 
books. 

It  has  turned  out  to  be  such  a  fine  day  that 
it  is  impossible  to  think  of  staying  indoors. 
The  weather  is  so  clear  and  sunny  that  the 
school  children  have  been  granted  skating  leave. 
The  whole  street  is  filled  with  children,  who 
have  been  home  to  get  their  skates  and  are  now 
hurrpng  down  to  the  ice. 

The  boys,  as  they  move  among  the  other  chil- 
dren, appear  solemn  and  low-spirited.  Not  a 
smile  Hghts  up  their  faces.  Their  misfortune  is 
so  heavy  that  they  cannot  forget  it  for  a 
second. 

When  they  come  down  on  the  ice,  it  is  full  of 
life  and  movement.  All  along  the  edges  it  is 
bordered  with  a  tight  mass  of  people;   farther 


THE  AIRSHIP  155 

out,  the  skaters  circle  around  one  another,  like 
gnats,  and  still  farther  out,  solitary  black  specks 
that  float  along  at  lightning  speed  are  seen. 

The  boys  buckle  on  their  skates  and  join  the 
other  skaters.  They  skate  very  well,  and  as 
they  glide  out  on  the  ice,  full  speed,  they  get 
color  in  their  cheeks  and  their  eyes  sparkle,  but 
not  for  a  moment  do  they  appear  happy,  like 
other  children. 

All  of  a  sudden,  as  they  are  making  a  turn 
toward  land,  they  catch  sight  of  something  very 
pretty.  A  big  balloon  comes  from  the  direction 
of  Stockholm  and  is  sailing  out  toward  Salt  Lake. 
It  is  striped  in  reds  and  yellows,  and  when  the 
sun  strikes  it  it  glitters  like  a  ball  of  fire.  The 
basket  is  decorated  with  many-hued  flags,  and 
as  the  balloon  does  not  fly  very  high  the  bright 
color-play  can  be  seen  quite  plainly. 

When  the  boys  spy  the  balloon,  they  send  up  a 
shriek  of  delight.  It  is  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  that  they  have  seen  a  big  balloon  sailing 
through  the  air.  All  the  dreams  and  plans  which 
have  been  their  consolation  and  joy  during  the 
many  trying  days  come  back  to  them  when  they 
see  it.  They  stand  still  that  they  may  observe 
how  the  ropes  and  fines  are  fastened;  and  they 
take  note  of  the  anchor  and  the  sand  bags  on  the 
edge  of  the  car. 


156  THE  AIRSHIP 

The  balloon  moves  with  good  speed  over  the 
ice-bound  fiord.  All  the  skaters,  big  and  little, 
dart  around  one  another,  laughing  and  hooting 
at  it  when  it  first  comes  into  sight,  and  then  they 
bound  after  it.  They  follow  it  out  to  sea,  in  a 
long  swaying  line,  like  a  drag  line.  The  air-sailors 
amuse  themselves  by  scattering  handfuls  of 
paper  strips  in  a  variety  of  colors,  which  come 
circling  down  slowly  through  the  blue  air. 

The  boys  are  foremost  in  the  long  Une  that  is 
chasing  after  the  balloon.  They  hurry  forward, 
with  heads  thrown  back,  and  gaze  steadily 
turned  upward.  Their  eyes  dance  with  deUght 
for  the  first  time  since  they  parted  from  their 
mother.  They  are  beside  themselves  with  ex- 
citement over  the  airship  and  think  of  nothing 
else  than  to  follow  it  as  long  as  possible. 

But  the  balloon  moves  ahead  rapidly,  and  one 
has  to  be  a  good  skater  not  to  be  left  behind. 
The  crowd  chasing  after  it  thins  down,  but  in 
the  lead  of  those  who  keep  up  the  pursuit  the 
two  httle  boys  are  seen.  Afterwards  people  said 
there  was  something  strange  about  them.  They 
neither  laughed  nor  shouted,  but  on  their  up- 
turned faces  there  was  a  look  of  transport  —  as 
though  they  had  seen  a  heavenly  vision. 

The  balloon  also  affects  the  boys  Hke  a  celestial 
guide,  who  has  come  to  lead  them  back  to  the 


THE  AIRSHIP  157 

right  path  and  teach  them  how  to  go  forward 
with  renewed  courage.  When  the  boys  see  it, 
their  hearts  bound  with  longing  to  begin  work 
again  on  the  great  invention.  Once  more  they 
feel  confident  and  happy.  If  only  they  are 
patient,  they  '11  probably  work  their  way 
toward  success,  A  day  will  surely  come  when 
they  can  step  into  their  own  airship  and  soar 
aloft  in  space.  Some  day  they  will  be  the  ones 
who  travel  up  there,  far  above  the  people,  and 
their  airship  will  be  more  perfect  than  the  one 
they  now  see.  Theirs  shall  be  an  airship  that 
can  be  steered  and  turned,  lowered  and  raised, 
sail  against  wind  and  without  wind.  It  shall 
carry  them  by  day  and  by  night,  wherever  they 
may  wish  to  travel.  They  shall  descend  to  the 
highest  mountain  peaks,  travel  over  the  dreariest 
deserts,  and  explore  the  most  inaccessible  re- 
gions. They  shall  behold  all  the  glories  of  the 
world. 

"It  is  n't  worth  while  to  lose  heart,  Hugo," 
says  Lennart.  ''  We  '11  have  a  fine  time  if  we 
can  only  finish  it!  " 

Father  and  his  ill-luck  are  things  which  do  not 
concern  them  any  more.  One  who  has  something 
as  great  to  strive  for  as  they  have  cannot  let  him- 
self be  hindered  by  anything  so  pitiable! 

The  balloon  gains  in  speed  the  farther  out  it 


•  < 


158  THE  AIRSHIP 

comes.  The  skaters  have  ceased  following  it. 
The  only  ones  who  continue  the  chase  are  the 
two  little  boys.  They  move  ahead  as  swiftly 
and  lightly  as  if  their  feet  had  taken  on  wings. 

Suddenly  the  people  who  stand  on  the  shore 
and  can  look  far  out  across  the  fiord  send  up  a 
great  cry  of  horror  and  fear.  They  see  that  the 
balloon,  pursued  all  the  while  by  the  two  chil- 
dren, sails  away  toward  the  fairway,  where  there 
is  open  sea.  "  Open  sea!  It  is  open  sea  out 
there!"   the  people  shout. 

The  skaters  down  on  the  ice  hear  the  shouts 
and  turn  their  eyes  toward  the  mouth  of  the 
fiord.  They  see  how  a  strip  of  water  shimmers 
in  the  sunlight  yonder.  They  see,  also,  that  two 
little  boys  are  skating  toward  this  strip,  which 
they  do  not  notice  because  their  eyes  are  fixed 
on  the  balloon;  and  not  for  a  second  do  they 
turn  them  toward  earth. 

The  people  are  calHng  out  with  all  their  might 
and  stamping  on  the  ice.  Fast  runners  are 
hurrying  on  to  stop  them;  but  the  Uttle  ones 
mark  nothing  of  all  this,  where  they  are  chasing 
after  the  airship.  They  do  not  know  that  they 
alone  are  following  it.  They  hear  no  cries  back 
of  them.  They  do  not  hear  the  splash  and  roar 
of  the  water  ahead  of  them.  They  see  only  the 
balloon,  which  as  it  were  carries  them  with  it. 


THE  AIRSHIP  159 

Lennart  already  feels  his  own  airship  rising  under 
him,  and  Hugo  soars  away  over  the  North  Pole. 

The  people  on  the  ice  and  on  the  shore  see  how 
rapidly  they  are  nearing  the  open  sea.  For  a 
second  or  two  they  are  in  such  breathless  sus- 
pense that  they  can  neither  move  nor  cry  out. 
It  seems  as  if  the  two  children  are  under  a  magic 
spell  —  in  their  chase  after  a  shining  heavenly 
vision. 

The  air-sailors  up  in  the  balloon  have  also 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  little  boys.  They  see 
that  they  are  in  danger  and  scream  at  them 
and  make  warning  gestures;  but  the  boys  do  not 
understand  them.  When  they  notice  that  the 
air-sailors  are  making  signs  at  them,  they  think 
they  want  to  take  them  up  into  the  car.  They 
stretch  their  arms  toward  them,  overjoyed  in 
the  hope  of  accompanying  them  through  the 
bright  upper  regions. 

At  this  moment  the  boys  have  reached  the 
sailing  channel,  and,  with  arms  uplifted,  they 
skate  down  into  the  water  and  disappear  without 
a  cry  for  help.  The  skaters,  who  have  tried  to 
reach  them  in  time,  are  standing  a  couple  of 
seconds  later  on  the  edge  of  the  ice,  but  the 
current  has  carried  their  bodies  under  the  ice, 
and  no  helping  hand  can  reach  them. 


The  Wedding  March 


The   Wedding   March 

Now  I  'm  going  to  tell  a  pretty  story. 

A  good  many  years  ago  there  was  to  be  a  very 
big  wedding  at  Svartsjo  parish  in  Vermland. 

First,  there  was  to  be  a  church  ceremony  and 
after  that  three  days  of  feasting  and  merry- 
making, and  every  day  while  the  festivities 
lasted  there  was  to  be  dancing  from  early  morn- 
ing till  far  into  the  night. 

Since  there  was  to  be  so  much  dancing,  it 
was  of  very  great  importance  to  get  a  good 
fiddler,  and  Juryman  Nils  Olafsson,  who  was 
managing  the  wedding,  worried  almost  more 
over  this  than  over  anything  else. 

The  fiddler  they  had  at  Svartsjo  he  did  not 
care  to  engage.  His  name  was  Jan  Oster.  The 
Jur>Tnan  knew,  to  be  sure,  that  he  had  quite  a 
big  name;  but  he  was  so  poor  that  sometimes 
he  would  appear  at  a  wedding  in  a  frayed  jacket 
and  without  shoes  to  his  feet.  The  Jur^-man 
did  n't  wish  to  see  such  a  ragtag  at  the  head  of 
the  bridal  procession,  so  he  decided  to  send  a 
messenger  to  a  musician  in  Josse  parish,  who  was 


■  V 


i64  THE  WEDDING  MARCH 

commonly  called  Fiddler  Marten,  and  ask  him 
if  he  would  n't  come  and  play  at  the  wedding. 

Fiddler  Marten  didn't  consider  the  proposi- 
tion for  a  second,  but  promptly  rephed  that  he 
did  not  want  to  play  at  Svartsjo,  because  in 
that  parish  lived  a  musician  who  was  more 
skilled  than  all  others  in  Vermland.  While 
they  had  him,  there  was  no  need  for  them  to 
call  another. 

When  Nils  Olafsson  received  this  answer,  he 
took  a  few  days  to  think  it  over,  and  then  he 
sent  word  to  a  fiddler  in  Big  Kil  parish,  named 
Olle  in  Saby,  to  ask  him  if  he  would  n't  come 
and  play  at  his  daughter's  wedding. 

Olle  in  Saby  answered  in  the  same  way  as 
Fiddler  Marten.  He  sent  his  compliments  to 
Nils  Olafsson,  and  said  that  so  long  as  there 

o 

was  such  a  capable  musician  as  Jan  Oster  to  be 
had  in  Svartsjo,  he  did  n't  want  to  go  there  to 
play. 

Nils  Olafsson  did  n't  like  it  that  the  musicians 
tried  in  this  way  to  force  upon  him  the  very 
one  he  did  not  want.  Now  he  considered  that 
it  was  a  point  of  honor  with  him  to  get  another 
fiddler  than  Jan  Oster, 

A  few  days  after  he  had  the  answer  from  Olle 
in  Saby,  he  sent  his  servant  to  fiddler  Lars  Lars- 
son,  who  lived  at  the  game  lodge  in  Ullerud 


THE  WEDDING  MARCH  165 

parish.  Lars  Larsson  was  a  well-to-do  man  who 
owned  a  fine  farm.  He  was  sensible  and  consid- 
erate and  no  hotspur,  like  the  other  musicians. 
But  Lars  Larsson,  like  the  others,  at  once  thought 
of  Jan  Oster,  and  asked  how  it  happened  that 
he  was  not  to  play  at  the  wedding. 

Nils  Olafsson's  servant  thought  it  best  to  say 
to  him  that,  since  Jan  Oster  lived  at  Svartsjo, 
they  could  hear  him  play  at  any  time.  As  Nils 
Olafsson  was  making  ready  to  give  a  grand 
wedding,  he  wished  to  treat  his  guests  to  some- 
thing a  little  better  and  more  select. 

"I  doubt  if  you  can  get  any  one  better,"  said 
Lars  Larsson. 

"  Now  you  must  be  thinking  of  answering  in 
the  same  way  as  fiddler  Marten  and  Olle  in 
Saby  did,"  said  the  servant.  Then  he  told  him 
how  he  had  fared  with  them. 

Lars  Larsson  paid  close  attention  to  the  ser- 
vant's story,  and  then  he  sat  quietly  for  a  long 
while  and  pondered.  Finally  he  answered  in 
the  affirmative:  "Tell  your  master  that  I 
thank  him  for  his  in\'itation  and  will  come." 

The  following  Sunday  Lars  Larsson  journeyed 
down  to  Svartsjo.  He  drove  up  to  the  church 
knoll  just  as  the  wedding  guests  were  forming 
into  line  to  march  to  the  church.  He  came 
driving  in  his  own  chaise  and  with  a  good  horse 


i66  THE  WEDDING  MARCH 

and  dressed  in  black  broadcloth.  He  took  out 
his  fiddle  from  a  highly  polished  box.  Nils 
Olafsson  received  him  effusively,  thinking  that 
here  was  a  fiddler  of  whom  he  might  be  proud. 
Immediately  after  Lars  Larsson's  arrival, 
•  Jan  Oster,  too,  came  marching  up  to  the  church, 
with  his  fiddle  under  his  arm.  He  walked 
straight  up  to  the  crowd  around  the  bride, 
exactly  as  if  he  were  asked  to  come  and  play 
at  the  wedding. 

Jan  Oster  had  come  in  the  old  gray  homespun 
jacket  which  they  had  seen  him  wearing  for  ages. 
But,  as  this  was  to  be  such  a  grand  wedding,  his 
wife  had  made  an  attempt  at  mending  the  holes 
at  the  elbow  by  sewing  big  green  patches  over 
them.  Jan  Oster  was  a  tall  handsome  man,  and 
would  have  made  a  fine  appearance  at  the  head 
of  the  bridal  procession,  had  he  not  been  so 
shabbily  dressed,  and  had  his  face  not  been  so 
lined  and  seamed  by  worries  and  the  hard  struggle 
with  misfortune. 

When  Lars  Larsson  saw  Jan  Oster  coming,  he 
seemed  a  bit  displeased.  "  So  you  have  called 
Jan  Oster,  too,"  he  said  under  his  breath  to  the 
Juryman  Nils  Olafsson,  "  but  at  a  grand  wedding 
there  's  no  harm  in  having  two  fiddlers." 

"  I  did  not  invite  him,  that 's  certain!  "  pro- 
tested Nils  Olafsson.    "  I  can't  comprehend  why 


THE  WEDDING  MARCH  167 

he  has  come.    Just  wait,  and  I'll  let  him  know 
that  he  has  no  business  here!  " 

"  Then  some  practical  joker  must  have  bidden 
him,"  said  Lars  Larsson.  "  But  if  you  care  to 
be  guided  by  my  counsel,  appear  as  if  nothing 
were  wrong  and  go  over  and  bid  him  welcome.  I 
have  heard  said  that  he  is  a  quick-tempered 
man,  and  who  knows  but  he  may  begin  to 
quarrel  and  fight  if  you  were  to  tell  him  that 
he  was  not  invited?  " 

This  the  Jur^-man  knew,  too !  It  was  no  time 
to  begin  fussing  when  the  bridal  procession  was 
forming  on  the  church  grounds;  so  he  walked 
up  to  Jan  Oster  and  bade  him  be  welcome. 
Thereupon  the  two  fiddlers  took  their  places  at 
the  head  of  the  procession.  The  bridal  pair 
walked  under  a  canopy,  the  bridesmaids  and  the 
groomsmen  marched  in  pairs,  and  after  them 
came  the  parents  and  relatives;  so  the  proces- 
sion was  both  imposing  and  long. 

When  everything  was  in  readiness,  a  grooms- 
man stepped  up  to  the  musicians  and  asked 
them  to  play  the  Wedding  March.  Both  mu- 
sicians swung  their  fiddles  up  to  their  chins,  but 
beyond  that  they  did  not  get.  And  thus  they 
stood!  It  was  an  old  custom  in  Svartsjo  for 
the  best  fiddler  to  strike  up  the  Wedding  March 
and  to  lead  the  music. 


i68  THE  WEDDING  MARCH 

The  groomsman  looked  at  Lars  Larsson,  as 
though  he  were  waiting  for  him  to  start;  but 
Lars  Larsson  looked  at  Jan  Oster  and  said, 
"  It  is  you,  Jan  Oster,  who  must  begin." 

It  did  not  seem  possible  to  Jan  Oster  that 
the  other  fiddler,  who  was  as  finely  dressed  as 
any  gentleman,  should  not  be  better  than  him- 
self, who  had  come  in  his  old  homespun  jacket 
straight  from  the  wretched  hovel  where  there 
were  only  poverty  and  distress.  "  No,  indeed!  " 
said  he.    "No,  indeed!" 

He  saw  that  the  bridegroom  put  forth  his 
hand  and  touched  Lars  Larsson.  "Larsson 
shall  begin,"  said  he. 

When  Jan  Oster  heard  the  bridegroom  say  this, 
he  promptly  lowered  his  fiddle  and  stepped  aside. 

Lars  Larsson,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not 
move  from  the  spot,  but  remained  standing  in 
his  place,  confident  and  pleased  with  himself. 
Nor  did  he  raise  the  bow.  "It  is  Jan  Oster  who 
shall  begin,"  he  repeated  stubbornly  and  resist- 
ingly,  as  one  who  is  used  to  having  his  own  way. 

There  was  some  commotion  among  the  crowds 
over  the  cause  of  the  delay.  The  bride's  father 
came  forward  and  begged  Lars  Larsson  to  begin. 
The  sexton  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  church 
and  beckoned  to  them  to  hurry  along.  The 
parson  stood  waiting  at  the  altar. 


THE   WEDDING  MARCH  itx^ 

"You  can  ask  Jan  Oster  to  begin,  then,"  said 
Lars  Larsson.  "We  musicians  consider  him  to 
be  the  best  among  us." 

"That  may  be  so,"  said  a  peasant,  "but  we 
peasants  consider  you  the  best  one." 

Then  the  other  peasants  also  gathered  around 
them.  "Well,  begin,  why  don't  you?"  they 
said.  "The  parson  is  waiting.  We'll  become  a 
laughing-stock  to  the  church  people." 

Lars  Larsson  stood  there  quite  as  stubborn 
and  determined  as  before.  "I  can't  see  why 
the  people  in  this  parish  are  so  opposed  to  having 
their  own  fiddler  placed  in  the  lead." 

Nils  Olafsson  was  perfectly  furious  because 
they  wished  in  this  way  to  force  Jan  Oster  upon 
him.  He  came  close  up  to  Lars  Larsson  and 
whispered:  "I  comprehend  that  it  is  you  who 
have  called  hither  Jan  Oster,  and  that  you  have 
arranged  this  to  do  him  honor.  But  be  quick, 
now,  and  play  up,  or  I'll  drive  that  ragamufl^ 
from  the  church  grounds  in  disgrace  and  by 
force!" 

Lars  Larsson  looked  him  square  in  the  face 
and  nodded  to  him  without  displacing  any 
irritation.  "Yes,  you  are  right  in  saying  that 
we  must  have  an  end  of  this,"  said  he. 

He  beckoned  to  Jan  Oster  to  return  to  his 
place.    Then  he  himself  walked  forward  a  step 


lyo  THE  WEDDING  MARCH 

or  two,  and  turned  around  that  all  might  see 
him.  Then  he  flung  the  bow  far  from  him, 
pulled  out  his  case-knife,  .and  cut  all  four  violin 
strings,  which  snapped  with  a  sharp  twang.  "It 
shall  not  be  said  of  me  that  I  count  myself 
better  than  Jan  Oster!"   said  he. 

It  appears  that  for  three  years  Jan  Oster  had 
been  musing  on  an  air  which  he  could  n't  get 
out  over  the  strings  because  at  home  he  was 
bound  down  by  dull,  gray  cares  and  worries, 
and  nothing  ever  happened  to  him,  either  great 
or  small,  to  hft  him  above  the  daily  grind.  But 
when  he  heard  Lars  Larsson's  strings  snap,  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  filled  his  lungs.  His 
features  were  rapt,  as  though  he  were  listening 
to  something  far  away;  and  then  he  began  to 
play.  And  the  air  which  he  had  been  musing 
over  for  three  years  became  all  at  once  clear  to 
him,  and  as  the  tones  of  it  vibrated  he  walked 
with  proud  step  down  to  the  church. 

The  bridal  procession  had  never  before  heard 
an  air  like  that!  It  carried  them  along  with 
such  speed  that  not  even  Nils  Olafsson  could 
think  of  staying  back.  And  every  one  was  so 
pleased  both  with  Jan  Oster  and  with  Lars 
Larsson  that  the  entire  following  entered  the 
church,  their  eyes  brimming  with  tears  of  joy. 


The  Musician 


The  Musician 

No  one  in  Ullerud  could  say  anything  of  fiddler 
Lars  Larsson  but  that  he  was  both  meek  and 
modest  in  his  later  years.  But  he  had  not  always 
been  thus,  it  seems.  In  his  youth  he  had  been 
so  overbearing  and  boastful  that  people  were 
in  despair  about  him.  It  is  said  that  he  was 
changed  and  made  over  in  a  single  night,  and 
this  is  the  way  it  happened. 

Lars  Larsson  went  out  for  a  stroll  late  one 
Saturday  night,  with  his  fiddle  under  his  arm. 
He  was  excessively  gay  and  jovial,  for  he  had 
just  come  from  a  party  where  his  playing  had 
tempted  both  young  and  old  to  dance.  He 
walked  along,  thinking  that  while  his  bow  was 
in  motion  no  one  had  been  able  to  sit  still. 
There  had  been  such  a  whirl  in  the  cabin  that 
once  or  twice  he  fancied  the  chairs  and  tables 
were  dancing  too!  "I  verily  beheve  they  have 
never  before  had  a  musician  like  me  in  these 
parts,"  he  remarked  to  himself.  "But  I  had  a 
mighty  rough  time  of  it  before  I  became  such  a 
clever  chap!"    he  continued.     "When  I  was  a 


■  ^ 


174  THE  MUSICIAN 

child,  it  was  no  fun  for  me  when  my  parents 
put  me  to  tending  cows  and  sheep  and  when  I 
forgot  everything  else  to  sit  and  twang  my 
fiddle.  And  just  fancy!  they  would  n't  so  much 
as  give  me  a  real  violin.  I  had  nothing  to  play 
on  but  an  old  wooden  box  over  which  I  had 
stretched  some  strings.  In  the  daytime,  when 
I  could  be  alone  in  the  woods,  I  fared  rather 
well;  but  it  was  none  too  cheerful  to  come  home 
in  the  evening  when  the  cattle  had  strayed  from 
me!  Then  I  heard  often  enough,  from  both 
father  and  mother,  that  I  was  a  good-for-nothing 
and  never  would  amount  to  anything." 

In  that  part  of  the  forest  where  Lars  Larsson 
was  strolling  a  Httle  river  was  trying  to  find  its 
way.  The  ground  was  stony  and  hilly,  and  the 
stream  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  ahead, 
winding  this  way  and  that  way,  rolling  over 
little  falls  and  rapids  —  and  yet  it  appeared 
to  get  nowhere.  The  path  where  the  fiddler 
walked,  on  the  other  hand,  tried  to  go  as  straight 
ahead  as  possible.  Therefore  it  was  continually 
meeting  the  sinuous  stream,  and  each  time  it 
would  dart  across  it  by  using  a  little  bridge. 
The  musician  also  had  to  cross  the  stream  re- 
peatedly, and  he  was  glad  of  it.  He  thought  it 
was  as  though  he  had  found  company  in  the 
forest. 


\ 


THE  MUSICIAN  175 

Where  he  was  tramping  it  was  light  summer- 
night.  The  sun  had  not  yet  come  up,  but  its 
being  away  made  no  difference,  for  it  was  as 
light  as  day  all  the  same. 

Still  the  light  was  not  quite  what  it  is  in  the 
daytime.  Everything  had  a  different  color. 
The  sky  was  perfectly  white,  the  trees  and  the 
growths  on  the  ground  were  grayish,  but  every- 
thing was  as  distinctly  visible  as  in  the  daytime, 
and  when  Lars  Larsson  paused  on  any  of  the 
numerous  bridges  and  looked  down  into  the 
stream,  he  could  distinguish  every  ripple  on  the 
water. 

"When  I  see  a  stream  like  this  in  the  wilder- 
ness," he  thought,  "I  am  reminded  of  my  own 
Ufe.  As  persistent  as  this  stream  have  I  been  in 
forcing  my  way  past  all  that  has  obstructed  my 
path.  Father  has  been  my  rock  ahead,  and 
mother  tried  to  hold  me  back  and  bury  me 
between  moss-tufts,  but  I  stole  past  both  of 
them  and  got  out  in  the  world.  Hay-ho,  hi,  hi! 
I  think  mother  is  still  sitting  at  home  and  weep- 
ing for  me.  But  what  do  I  care!  She  might 
have  known  that  I  should  amount  to  something 
some  day,  instead  of  trying  to  oppose  me!" 

Impatiently  he  tore  some  leaves  from  a  branch 
and  threw  them  into  the  river. 

"Look!  thus  have  I  torn  myself  loose  from 


176  THE  MUSICIAN 

everything  at  home,"  he  said,  as  he  watched  the 
leaves  borne  away  by  the  water.  "I  am  just 
wondering  if  mother  knows  that  I'm  the  best 
musician  in  Vermland?"  he  remarked  as  he 
went  farther. 

He  walked  on  rapidly  until  he  came  across 
the  stream  again.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked 
into  the  water. 

Here  the  river  went  along  in  a  struggling 
rapid,  creating  a  terrible  racket.  As  it  was 
night,  one  heard  from  the  stream  sounds  quite 
different  from  those  of  the  daytime,  and  the 
musician  was  perfectly  astonished  when  he 
stood  still  and  listened.  There  was  no  bird 
song  in  the  trees  and  no  music  in  the  pines  and 
no  rustling  in  the  leaves.  No  wagon  wheels 
creaked  in  the  road  and  no  cow-bells  tinkled  in 
the  wood.  One  heard  only  the  rapid;  but  be- 
cause all  the  other  things  were  hushed,  it  could 
be  heard  so  much  better  than  during  the  day. 
It  sounded  as  though  everything  thinkable  and 
unthinkable  was  rioting  and  clamoring  in  the 
depths  of  the  stream.  First,  it  sounded  as  if 
some  one  were  sitting  down  there  and  grinding 
grain  between  stones,  and  then  it  soimded  as 
though  goblets  were  clinking  in  a  drinking- 
bout;  and  again  there  was  a  murmuring,  as 
when  the  congregation  had  left  the  church  and 


THE  MUSICIAN  177 

were  standing  on  the  church  knoll  after  the 
service,  talking  earnestly  together. 

"I  suppose  this,  too,  is  a  kind  of  music," 
thought  the  fiddler,  "although  I  can't  find 
anything  much  in  it!  I  think  the  air  that  I  com- 
posed the  other  day  was  much  more  worth 
listening  to." 

But  the  longer  Lars  Larsson  listened  to  the 
music  of  the  rapid,  the  better  he  thought  it 
sounded. 

"I  believe  you  are  improving,"  he  said  to  the 
rapid.  "It  must  have  dawned  upon  you  that 
the  best  musician  in  Vermland  is  listening  to 
you!" 

The  instant  he  had  made  this  remark,  he 
fancied  he  heard  a  couple  of  clear  metallic 
sounds,  as  when  some  one  picks  a  violin  string 
to  hear  if  it  is  in  tune. 

"But  see,  hark!  The  Water-Sprite  himself 
has  arrived.  I  can  hear  how  he  begins  to  thrum 
on  the  violin.  Let  us  hear  now  if  you  can  play 
better  than  I!"  said  Lars  Larsson,  laughing. 
"But  I  can't  stand  here  all  night  waiting  for 
you  to  begin,"  he  called  to  the  water.  "Now  I 
must  be  going;  but  I  promise  you  that  I  will 
also  stop  at  the  next  bridge  and  listen,  to  hear 
if  you  can  cope  with  me." 

He  went  farther  and,  as  the  stream  in  its 

12 


178  THE  MUSICIAN 

winding  course  ran  into  the  wood,  he  began 
thinking  once  more  of  his  home. 

"I  wonder  how  the  Uttle  brooklet  that  runs 
by  our  house  is  getting  on?  I  should  like  to  see 
it  again.  I  ought  to  go  home  once  in  a  while, 
to  see  if  mother  is  suffering  want  and  hardship 
since  father's  death.  But  busy  as  I  am,  it  is 
almost  impossible.  As  busy  as  I  am  just  now, 
I  say,  I  can't  look  after  anything  but  the  fiddle. 
There  is  hardly  an  evening  in  the  week  that  I 
am  at  Uberty." 

In  a  little  while  he  met  the  stream  again,  and 
his  thoughts  were  turned  to  something  else. 
At  this  crossing  the  river  did  not  come  rushing 
on  in  a  noisy  rapid,  but  ghded  ahead  rather 
quietly.  It  lay  perfectly  black  and  shiny  under 
the  night-gray  forest  trees,  and  carried  with  it 
one  and  another  patch  of  snow-white  scum 
from  the  rapids  above. 

When  the  musician  came  down  upon  the 
bridge  and  heard  no  sound  from  the  stream 
but  a  soft  swish  now  and  then,  he  began  to 
laugh. 

"I  might  have  known  that  the  Water-Sprite 
wouldn't  care  to  come  to  the  meeting,"  he 
shouted.  "To  be  sure,  I  have  always  heard 
that  he  is  considered  an  excellent  performer,  but 
one  who  lies  still  forever  in  a  brook  and  never 


THE  MUSICIAN  179 

hears  anything  new  can't  know  very  much! 
He  perceives,  no  doubt,  that  here  stands  one 
who  knows  more  about  music  than  he,  there- 
fore he  does  n't  care  to  let  me  hear  him." 

Then  he  went  farther  and  lost  sight  of  the 
river  again.  He  came  into  a  part  of  the  forest 
which  he  had  always  thought  dismal  and 
bleak  to  wander  through.  There  the  ground  was 
covered  with  big  stone  heaps,  and  gnarled  pine 
stumps  lay  uprooted  among  them.  If  there 
was  anything  magical  or  fearsome  in  the  forest, 
one  would  naturally  think  that  it  concealed 
itself  here. 

When  the  musician  came  in  among  the  wild 
stone  blocks,  a  shudder  passed  through  him,  and 
he  began  to  wonder  if  it  had  not  been  unwise  of 
him  to  boast  in  the  presence  of  the  Water- 
Sprite.  He  fancied  the  large  pine  roots  began 
to  gesticulate,  as  if  they  were  threatening  him. 
"Beware,  you  who  think  yourself  cleverer  than 
the  Water-Sprite!"  it  seemed  as  if  they  wanted 
to  say. 

Lars  Larsson  felt  how  his  heart  contracted 
with  dread.  A  heavy  weight  bore  down  upon 
his  chest,  so  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe,  and 
his  hands  became  ice-cold.  Then  he  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  wood  and  tried  to  talk  sense 
to  himself. 


i8o  THE  MUSICIAN 

"Why,  there's  no  musician  in  the  waterfall!" 
said  he.  "Such  things  are  only  superstition  and 
nonsense!  It 's  of  no  consequence  what  I  have 
said  or  have  n't  said  to  him."  "^ 

As  he  spoke,  he  looked  around  him,  as  if  for 
some  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  what  he  said. 
Had  it  been  daytime,  every  tiny  leaf  would 
have  winked  at  him  that  there  was  nothing 
dangerous  in  the  wood;  but  now,  at  night,  the 
leaves  on  the  trees  were  closed  and  silent  and 
looked  as  though  they  were  hiding  all  sorts  of 
dangerous  secrets. 

Lars  Larsson  grew  more  and  more  alarmed. 
That  which  caused  him  the  greatest  fear  was 
having  to  cross  the  stream  once  more  before  it 
and  the  road  parted  company  and  went  in  dif- 
ferent directions.  He  wondered  what  the 
Water-Sprite  would  do  to  him  when  he  walked 
across  the  last  bridge  —  if  he  might  perhaps 
stretch  a  big  black  hand  out  of  the  water  and 
drag  him  down  into  the  depths. 

He  had  worked  himself  into  such  a  state  of 
fright  that  he  thought  of  turning  back.  But 
then  he  would  meet  the  stream  again.  And  if 
he  were  to  turn  out  of  the  road  and  go  into  the 
wood,  he  would  also  meet  it,  the  way  it  kept 
bending  and  winding  itself! 

He  felt  so   nervous   that  he   didn't  know 


THE  MUSICIAN  i8i 

what  to  do.  He  was  snared  and  captured  and 
bound  by  that  stream,  and  saw  no  possibility  of 
escape. 

Finally  he  saw  before  him  the  last  bridge 
crossing.  Directly  opposite  him,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream,  stood  an  old  mill,  which  must 
have  been  abandoned  these  many  years.  The 
big  mill-wheel  hung  motionless  over  the  water. 
The  sluice-gate  lay  mouldering  on  the  land ;  the 
mill-race  was  moss-grown,  and  its  sides  were 
lined  with  common  fern  and  beard-moss. 

**If  all  had  been  as  formerly  and  there  were 
people  here,"  thought  the  musician,  "I  should 
be  safe  now  from  all  danger." 

But,  at  all  events,  he  felt  reassured  in  seeing 
a  building  constructed  by  human  hands,  and,  as 
he  crossed  the  stream,  he  was  scarcely  frightened 
at  all.  Nor  did  anything  dreadful  happen  to 
him.  The  Water-Sprite  seemed  to  have  no 
quarrel  with  him.  He  was  simply  amazed  to 
think  he  had  worked  himself  into  a  panic  over 
nothing  whatever. 

He  felt  very  happy  and  secure,  and  became 
even  happier  when  the  mill  door  opened  and  a 
young  girl  came  out  to  him.  She  looked  like 
an  ordinary  peasant  girl.  She  had  a  cotton 
kerchief  on  her  head  and  wore  a  short  skirt  and 
full  jacket,  but  her  feet  were  bare. 


i82  THE  MUSICIAN 

She  walked  up  to  the  musician  and  said  to  him 
without  further  ceremony,  "If  you  will  play  for 
me,  I  '11  dance  for  you." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  the  fiddler,  who  was 
in  fine  spirits  now  that  he  was  rid  of  his  fear. 
"That  I  can  do,  of  course.  I  have  never  in  my 
life  refused  to  play  for  a  pretty  girl  who  wants 
to  dance." 

He  took  his  place  on  a  stone  near  the  edge 
of  the  mill-pond,  raised  the  violin  to  his  chin, 
and  began  to  play. 

The  girl  took  a  few  steps  in  rhythm  with  the 
music;  then  she  stopped.  "What  kind  of  a 
polka  are  you  pla3dng?"  said  she.  "There  is 
no  vim  in  it." 

The  fiddler  changed  his  tune;  he  tried  one 
with  more  life  in  it. 

The  girl  was  just  as  dissatisfied.  "I  can't 
dance  to  such  a  draggy  polka,"  said  she. 

Then  Lars  Larsson  struck  up  the  wildest  air 
he  knew.  "  If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  this  one," 
he  said,  "you  will  have  to  call  hither  a  better 
musician  than  I  am." 

The  instant  he  said  this,  he  felt  that  a  hand 
caught  his  arm  at  the  elbow  and  began  to  guide 
the  bow  and  increase  the  tempo.  Then  from 
the  violin  there  poured  forth  a  strain  the  Hke  of 
which  he  had  never  before  heard.    It  moved  in 


THE  MUSICIAN  183 

such  a  quick  tempo  he  thought  that  a  rolling 
wheel  could  n't  have  kept  up  with  it, 

"Now,  that 's  what  I  call  a  polka!"  said  the 
girl,  and  began  to  swing  round. 

But  the  musician  did  not  glance  at  her.  He 
was  so  astonished  at  the  air  he  was  placing  that 
he  stood  with  closed  eyes,  to  hear  better. 
When  he  opened  them  after  a  moment,  the  girl 
was  gone.  But  he  did  not  wonder  much  at  this. 
He  continued  to  play  on,  long  and  well,  only 
because  he  had  never  before  heard  such  violin 
playing. 

"It  must  be  time  now  to  finish  with  this,"  he 
thought  finally,  and  wanted  to  lay  down  the 
bow.  But  the  bow  kept  up  its  motion;  he 
could  n't  make  it  stop.  It  travelled  back  and 
forth  over  the  strings  and  jerked  the  hand  and 
arm  with  it;  and  the  hand  that  held  the  neck 
of  the  vioHn  and  fingered  the  strings  could  not 
free  itself,  either. 

The  cold  sweat  stood  out  on  Lars  Larsson's 
brow,  and  he  was  frightened  now  in  earnest. 

"How  will  this  end?  Shall  I  sit  here  and  play 
till  doomsday?"  he  asked  himself  in  despair. 

The  bow  ran  on  and  on,  and  magically  called 
forth  one  tune  after  another.  Always  it  was 
something  new,  and  it  was  so  beautiful  that  the 
poor  fiddler  must  have  known  how  little  his  own 


l84  THE  MUSICIAN 

skill  was  worth.  And  it  was  this  that  tortured 
him  worse  than  the  fatigue. 

"He  who  plays  upon  my  violin  understands 
the  art.  But  never  in  all  my  born  days  have  I 
been  anything  but  a  bungler.  Now  for  the  first 
time  I  'm  learning  how  music  should  sound." 

For  a  few  seconds  he  became  so  transported 
by  the  music  that  he  forgot  his  evil  fate;  then 
he  felt  how  his  arm  ached  from  weariness  and 
he  was  seized  anew  with  despair. 

"This  violin  I  cannot  lay  down  until  I  have 
played  myself  to  death.  I  can  understand  that 
the  Water-Sprite  won't  be  satisfied  with  less." 

He  began  to  weep  over  himself,  but  all  the 
while  he  kept  on  pla3H[ng. 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  me  had  I  stayed 
at  home  in  the  little  cabin  with  mother.  What 
is  all  the  glory  worth  if  it  is  to  end  in  this  way?" 

He  sat  there  hour  after  hour.  Morning  came 
on,  the  sun  rose,  and  the  birds  sang  all  around 
him;  but  he  played  and  he  played,  without 
intermission. 

As  it  was  a  Sunday  that  dawned,  he  had  to 
sit  there  by  the  old  mill  all  alone.  No  human 
beings  tramped  in  this  part  of  the  forest.  They 
went  to  church  down  in  the  dale,  and  to  the 
villages  along  the  big  highway. 

Forenoon  came  along,  and  the  sun  stepped 


THE  MUSICIAN  185 

higher  and  higher  in  the  sky.  The  birds  grew 
silent,  and  the  wind  began  to  murmur  in  the 
long  pine  needles. 

Lars  Larsson  did  not  let  the  summer  day's 
heat  deter  him.  He  played  and  played.  At  last 
evening  was  ushered  in,  the  sun  sank,  but  his 
bow  needed  no  rest,  and  his  arm  continued  to 
move. 

**It  is  absolutely  certain  that  this  will  be  the 
death  of  me!"  said  he.  "And  it  is  a  righteous 
punishment  for  all  my  conceit." 

Far  along  in  the  evening  a  human  being  came 
wandering  through  the  wood.  It  was  a  poor  old 
woman  with  bent  back  and  white  hair,  and  a 
countenance  that  was  furrowed  by  many  sorrows. 

''It  seems  strange,"  thought  the  player,  ''but 
I  think  I  recognize  that  old  woman.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  it  is  my  mother?  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  mother  has  grown  so  old  and  gray?" 

He  called  aloud  and  stopped  her.  "Mother, 
mother,  come  here  to  me!"  he  cried. 

She  paused,  as  if  unwillingly.  "I  hear  now 
with  my  own  ears  that  you  are  the  best  musician 
in  Vermland,"  said  she.  "I  can  well  under- 
stand that  you  do  not  care  any  more  for  a  poor 
old  woman  like  me!" 

"Mother,  mother,  don't  pass  me  by!"  cried 
Lars  Larsson.    "  I  'm  no  great  performer  —  only 


1 86  THE  MUSICIAN 

^  - 

a  poor  wretch.     Come  here  that  I  may  speak 
with  you!" 

Then  the  mother  came  nearer  and  saw  how 
he  sat  and  played.  His  face  was  as  pale  as  death, 
his  hair  dripped  sweat,  and  blood  oozed  out 
from  under  the  roots  of  his  nails. 

"Mother,  I  have  fallen  into  misfortune  be- 
cause of  my  vanity,  and  now  I  must  play  my- 
self to  death.  But  tell  me,  before  this  happens, 
if  you  can  forgive  me,  who  left  you  alone  and 
poor  in  your  old  age!" 

His  mother  was  seized  with  a  great  compas- 
sion for  the  son,  and  all  the  anger  she  had  felt 
toward  him  was  as  if  blown  away.  "Why, 
surely  I  forgive  you!"  said  she.  And  as  she  saw 
his  anguish  and  bewilderment  and  wanted  him 
to  understand  that  she  meant  what  she  said,  she 
repeated  it  in  the  name  of  God. 

"In  the  name  of  God  our  Redeemer,  I  for- 
give you!" 

And  when  she  said  this,  the  bow  stopped,  the 
violin  fell  to  the  ground,  and  the  musician  arose 
saved  and  redeemed.  For  the  enchantment 
was  broken,  because  his  old  mother  had  felt 
such  compassion  for  his  distress  that  she  had 
spoken  God's  name  over  him. 


The  Legend  of  the  Christmas  Rose 


The   Legend   of  the 
Christmas   Rose 

Robber  Mother,  who  lived  in  Robbers'  Cave 
up  in  Goinge  forest,  went  down  to  the  village 
one  day  on  a  begging  tour.  Robber  Father, 
who  was  an  outlawed  man,  did  not  dare  to 
leave  the  forest,  but  had  to  content  himself 
with  lying  in  wait  for  the  wayfarers  who  ven- 
tured within  its  borders.  But  at  that  time 
travellers  were  not  very  plentiful  in  Southern 
Skane.  If  it  so  happened  that  the  man  had  had 
a  few  weeks  of  ill  luck  with  his  hunt,  his  wife 
would  take  to  the  road.  She  took  with  her  five 
youngsters,  and  each  youngster  wore  a  ragged 
leathern  suit  and  birch-bark  shoes  and  bore  a 
sack  on  his  back  as  long  as  himself.  When  Rob- 
ber Mother  stepped  inside  the  door  of  a  cabin, 
no  one  dared  refuse  to  give  her  whatever  she 
demanded;  for  she  was  not  above  coming  back 
the  following  night  and  setting  fire  to  the 
house  if  she  had  not  been  well  received.  Robber 
Mother  and  her  brood  were  worse  than  a  pack 


190     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

of  wolves,  and  many  a  man  felt  like  running  a 
spear  through  them;  but  it  was  never  done, 
because  they  all  knew  that  the  man  stayed  up 
in  the  forest,  and  he  would  have  known  how  to 
wreak  vengeance  if  anything  had  happened  to 
the  children  or  the  old  woman. 

Now  that  Robber  Mother  went  from  house  to 
house  and  begged,  she  came  one  day  to  Ovid, 
which  at  that  time  was  a  cloister.  She  rang  the 
bell  of  the  cloister  gate  and  asked  for  food.  The 
watchman  let  down  a  small  wicket  in  the  gate 
and  handed  her  six  round  bread  cakes  —  one 
for  herself  and  one  for  each  of  the  j&ve  children. 

While  the  mother  was  standing  quietly  at  the 
gate,  her  youngsters  were  running  about.  And 
now  one  of  them  came  and  pulled  at  her  skirt, 
as  a  signal  that  he  had  discovered  something 
which  she  ought  to  come  and  see,  and  Robber 
Mother  followed  him  promptly. 

The  entire  cloister  was  surrounded  by  a 
high  and  strong  wall,  but  the  youngster  had 
managed  to  find  a  little  back  gate  which  stood 
ajar.  When  Robber  Mother  got  there,  she 
pushed  the  gate  open  and  walked  inside  without 
asking  leave,  as  it  was  her  custom  to  do. 

Ovid  Cloister  was  managed  at  that  time  by 
Abbot  Hans,  who  knew  all  about  herbs.  Just 
within  the  cloister  wall  he  had  planted  a  little 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CIIRIST^fAS  ROSE     19I 

herb  garden,  and  it  was  into  this  that  the  old 
woman  had  forced  her  way. 

At  first  glance  Robber  Mother  was  so  aston- 
ished that  she  paused  at  the  gate.  It  was  high 
summertide,  and  Abbot  Hans'  garden  was  so 
full  of  flowers  that  the  eyes  were  fairly  dazzled 
by  the  blues,  reds,  and  yellows,  as  one  looked 
into  it.  But  presently  an  indulgent  smile  spread 
over  her  features,  and  she  started  to  walk  up  a 
narrow  path  that  lay  between  many  flower-beds. 

In  the  garden  a  lay  brother  walked  about, 
pulling  up  weeds.  It  was  he  who  had  left  the 
door  in  the  wall  open,  that  he  might  throw  the 
weeds  and  tares  on  the  rubbish  heap  outside. 

When  he  saw  Robber  Mother  coming  in,  with 
all  five  youngsters  in  tow,  he  ran  toward  her  at 
once  and  ordered  them  away.  But  the  beggar 
woman  walked  right  on  as  before.  She  cast  her 
eyes  up  and  down,  looking  now  at  the  stiff  white 
liUes  which  spread  near  the  ground,  then  on  the 
ivy  cHmbing  high  upon  the  cloister  wall,  and 
took  no  notice  whatever  of  the  lay  brother. 

He  thought  she  had  not  understood  him,  and 
wanted  to  take  her  by  the  arm  and  turn  her 
toward  the  gate.  But  when  the  robber  woman 
saw  his  purpose,  she  gave  him  a  look  that  sent 
him  reeling  backward.  She  had  been  walking 
with  back  bent  under  her  beggar's  pack,  but 


■  { 


192     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

now  she  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height. 
"I  am  Robber  Mother  from  Goinge  forest;  so 
touch  me  if  you  dare!"  And  it  was  obvious  that 
she  was  as  certain  she  would  be  left  in  peace  as 
if  she  had  announced  that  she  was  the  Queen  of 
Denmark. 

And  yet  the  lay  brother  dared  to  oppose  her, 
although  now,  when  he  knew  who  she  was,  he 
spoke  reasonably  to  her.  "You  must  know, 
Robber  Mother,  that  this  is  a  monks'  cloister, 
and  no  woman  in  the  land  is  allowed  within 
these  walls.  If  you  do  not  go  away,  the  monks 
will  be  angry  with  me  because  I  forgot  to  close 
the  gate,  and  perhaps  they  will  drive  me  away 
from  the  cloister  and  the  herb  garden." 

But  such  prayers  were  wasted  on  Robber 
Mother.  She  walked  straight  ahead  among  the 
little  flower-beds  and  looked  at  the  hyssop  with 
its  magenta  blossoms,  and  at  the  honeysuckles, 
which  were  full  of  deep  orange-colored  flower 
clusters. 

Then  the  lay  brother  knew  of  no  other  remedy 
than  to  run  into  the  cloister  and  call  for  help. 

He  returned  with  two  stalwart  monks,  and 
Robber  Mother  saw  that  now  it  meant  business ! 
With  feet  firmly  planted  she  stood  in  the  path 
and  began  shrieking  in  strident  tones  all  the  awful 
vengeance  she  would  wreak  on  the  cloister  if  she 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     193 

could  n't  remain  in  the  herb  garden  as  long  as 
she  wished.  But  the  monks  did  not  see  why 
they  need  fear  her  and  thought  only  of  driving 
her  out.  Then  Robber  jMothcr  let  out  a  per- 
fect volley  of  shrieks,  and,  throwing  herself 
upon  the  monks,  clawed  and  bit  at  them;  so 
did  all  the  youngsters.  The  men  soon  learned 
that  she  could  overpower  them,  and  all  they 
could  do  was  to  go  back  into  the  cloister  for 
reinforcements. 

As  they  ran  through  the  passage-way  which 
led  to  the  cloister,  they  met  Abbot  Hans,  who 
came  rushing  out  to  learn  what  all  this  noise 
was  about. 

Then  they  had  to  confess  that  Robber  Mother 
from  Goinge  forest  had  come  into  the  cloister 
and  that  they  were  unable  to  drive  her  out  and 
must  call  for  assistance. 

But  Abbot  Hans  upbraided  them  for  using 
force  and  forbade  their  calling  for  help.  He 
sent  both  monks  back  to  their  work,  and  al- 
though he  was  an  old  and  fragile  man,  he  took 
with  him  only  the  lay  brother. 

When  Abbot  Hans  came  out  in  the  garden, 
Robber  Mother  was  still  wandering  among  the 
flower-beds.  He  regarded  her  with  astonish- 
ment. He  was  certain  that  Robber  INIother  had 
never  before  seen  an  herb  garden;  yet  she  saun- 

13 


194     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

tered  leisurely  between  all  the  small  patches, 
each  of  which  had  been  planted  with  its  own 
species  of  rare  flower,  and  looked  at  them  as  if 
they  were  old  acquaintances.  At  some  she 
smiled,  at  others  she  shook  her  head. 

Abbot  Hans  loved  his  herb  garden  as  much  as 
it  was  possible  for  him  to  love  anything  earthly 
and  perishable.  Wild  and  terrible  as  the  old 
woman  looked,  he  could  n't  help  liking  that  she 
had  fought  with  three  monks  for  the  privilege  of 
viewing  the  garden  in  peace.  He  came  up  to 
her  and  asked  in  a  mild  tone  if  the  garden  pleased 
her. 

.  Robber  Mother  turned  defiantly  toward  Ab- 
bot Hans,  for  she  expected  only  to  be  trapped 
and  overpowered.  But  when  she  noticed  his 
white  hair  and  bent  form,  she  answered  peace- 
ably, "First,  when  I  saw  this,  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  a  prettier  garden ;  but  now  I  see  that 
it  can't  be  compared  with  one  I  know  of." 

Abbot  Hans  had  certainly  expected  a  dif- 
ferent answer.  When  he  heard  that  Robber 
Mother  had  seen  a  garden  more  beautiful  than 
his,  a  faint  flush  spread  over  his  withered  cheek. 
The  lay  brother,  who  was  standing  close  by, 
immediately  began  to  censure  the  old  woman. 
"This  is  Abbot  Hans,"  said  he,  "who  with  much 
care  and  diligence  has  gathered  the  flowers  from 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     195 

far  and  near  for  his  herb  garden.  We  all  know 
that  there  is  not  a  more  beautiful  garden  to  be 
found  in  all  Skane,  and  it  is  not  befitting  that 
you,  who  live  in  the  wild  forest  all  the  year 
around,  should  find  fault  with  his  work." 

"I  don't  wish  to  make  myself  the  judge  of 
either  him  or  you,"  said  Robber  Mother.  "I  'm 
only  saying  that  if  you  could  see  the  garden  of 
which  I  am  thinking  you  would  uproot  all  the 
flowers  planted  here  and  cast  them  away  like 
weeds." 

But  the  Abbot's  assistant  was  hardly  less 
proud  of  the  flowers  than  the  Abbot  himself, 
and  after  hearing  her  remarks  he  laughed  de- 
risively. ''I  can  understand  that  you  only  talk 
like  this  to  tease  us.  It  must  be  a  pretty  garden 
that  you  have  made  for  yourself  amongst  the 
pines  in  Goinge  forest!  I  'd  be  willing  to  wager 
my  soul's  salvation  that  you  have  never  before 
been  within  the  walls  of  an  herb  garden." 

Robber  Mother  grew  crimson  uith  rage  to 
think  that  her  word  was  doubted,  and  she  cried 
out:  *'It  may  be  true  that  until  to-day  I  had 
never  been  within  the  walls  of  an  herb  garden; 
but  you  monks,  who  are  holy  men,  certainly 
must  know  that  on  every  Christmas  Eve  the 
great  Goinge  forest  is  transformed  into  a  beau- 
tiful garden,  to  commemorate  the  hour  of  our 


196     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

Lord's  birth.  We  who  live  in  the  forest  have 
seen  this  happen  every  year.  And  in  that  gar- 
den I  have  seen  flowers  so  lovely  that  I  dared 
not  lift  my  hand  to  pluck  them." 

The  lay  brother  wanted  to  continue  the  argii^ 
ment,  but  Abbot  Hans  gave  him  a  sign  to  be 
silent.  For,  ever  since  his  childhood,  Abbot 
Hans  had  heard  it  said  that  on  every  Christmas 
Eve  the  forest  was  dressed  in  holiday  glory.  He 
had  often  longed  to  see  it,  but  he  had  never  had 
the  good  fortune.  Eagerly  he  begged  and  im- 
plored Robber  Mother  that  he  might  come  up 
to  the  Robbers'  Cave  on  Christmas  Eve.  If  she 
would  only  send  one  of  her  children  to  show  him 
the  way,  he  could  ride  up  there  alone,  and  he 
would  never  betray  them  —  on  the  contrary,  he 
would  reward  them,  in  so  far  as  it  lay  in  his 
power. 

Robber  Mother  said  no  at  first,  for  she  was 
thinking  of  Robber  Father  and  of  the  peril 
which  might  befall  him  should  she  permit  Abbot 
Hans  to  ride  up  to  their  cave.  At  the  same  time 
the  desire  to  prove  to  the  monk  that  the  garden 
which  she  knew  was  more  beautiful  than  his  got 
the  better  of  her,  and  she  gave  in. 

"But  more  than  one  follower  you  cannot  take 
with  you,"  said  she,  "and  you  are  not  to  waylay 
us  or  trap  us,  as  sure  as  you  are  a  holy  man," 


LEGEND  OE   THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     197 

This  Abbot  Hans  promised,  and  then  Robber 
Mother  went  her  way.  Abbot  Hans  commanded 
the  lay  brother  not  to  reveal  to  a  soul  that  which 
had  been  agreed  upon.  He  feared  that  the 
monks,  should  they  learn  of  his  purpose,  would 
not  allow  a  man  of  his  years  to  go  up  to  the 
Robbers'  Cave. 

Nor  did  he  himself  intend  to  reveal  his  project 
to  a  human  being.  And  then  it  happened  that 
Archbishop  Absalon  from  Lund  came  to  Ovid 
and  remained  through  the  night.  When  Abbot 
Hans  was  showing  him  the  herb  garden,  he  got 
to  thinking  of  Robber  Mother's  visit,  and  the  lay 
brother,  who  was  at  work  in  the  garden,  heard 
Abbot  Hans  telling  the  Bishop  about  Robber 
Father,  who  these  many  years  had  lived  as  an 
outlaw  in  the  forest,  and  asking  him  for  a  letter 
of  ransom  for  the  man,  that  he  might  lead  an 
honest  Hfe  among  respectable  folk.  "As  things 
are  now,"  said  Abbot  Hans,  "his  children  are 
growing  up  into  worse  malefactors  than  himself, 
and  you  will  soon  have  a  whole  gang  of  robbers 
to  deal  with  up  there  in  the  forest." 

But  the  Archbishop  replied  that  he  did  not  care 
to  let  the  robber  loose  among  honest  folk  in  the 
villages.  It  would  be  best  for  all  that  he  remain 
in  the  forest. 

Then  Abbot  Hans  grew  zealous  and  told  the 


198     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

Bishop  all  about  Goinge  forest,  which,  every 
year  at  Yuletide,  clothed  itself  in  summer  bloom 
around  the  Robbers'  Cave.  "  If  these  bandits  are 
not  so  bad  but  that  God's  glories  can  be  made^ 
manifest  to  them,  surely  we  cannot  be  too 
wicked  to  experience  the  same  blessing." 

The  Archbishop  knew  how  to  answer  Abbot 
Hans.  ''This  much  I  will  promise  you,  Abbot 
Hans,"  he  said,  smiling,  ''that  any  day  you 
send  me  a  blossom  from  the  garden  in  Goinge 
forest,  I  will  give  you  letters  of  ransom  for  all 
the  outlaws  you  may  choose  to  plead  for." 

The  lay  brother  apprehended  that  Bishop 
Absalon  believed  as  little  in  this  story  of  Robber 
Mother's  as  he  himself;  but  Abbot  Hans  per- 
ceived nothing  of  the  sort,  but  thanked  Absalon 
for  his  good  promise  and  said  that  he  would 
surely  send  him  the  flower. 

Abbot  Hans  had  his  way.  And  the  following 
Christmas  Eve  he  did  not  sit  at  home  with  his 
monks  in  Ovid  Cloister,  but  was  on  his  way  to 
Goinge  forest.  One  of  Robber  Mother's  wild 
youngsters  ran  ahead  of  him,  and  close  behind 
him  was  the  lay  brother  who  had  talked  with 
Robber  Mother  in  the  herb  garden. 

Abbot  Hans  had  been  longing  to  make  this 
journey,  and  he  was  very  happy  now  that  it  had 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     199 

come  to  pass.  But  it  was  a  different  matter  with 
the  lay  brother  who  accompanied  him.  Abbot 
Hans  was  very  dear  to  him,  and  he  would  not 
willingly  have  allowed  another  to  attend  him 
and  watch  over  him;  but  he  did  n't  believe  that 
he  should  see  any  Christmas  Eve  garden.  He 
thought  the  whole  thing  a  snare  which  Robber 
Mother  had,  with  great  cunning,  laid  for  Abbot 
Hans,  that  he  might  fall  into  her  husband's 
clutches. 

While  Abbot  Hans  was  riding  toward  the 
forest,  he  saw  that  ever^-where  they  were  prepar- 
ing to  celebrate  Christmas.  In  every  peasant 
settlement  fires  were  lighted  in  the  bath-house 
to  warm  it  for  the  afternoon  bathing.  Great 
hunks  of  meat  and  bread  were  being  carried  from 
the  larders  into  the  cabins,  and  from  the  barns 
came  the  men  with  big  sheaves  of  straw  to  be 
strewn  over  the  floors. 

As  he  rode  by  the  little  country  churches,  he 
observed  that  each  parson,  with  his  sexton,  was 
busily  engaged  in  decorating  his  church;  and 
when  he  came  to  the  road  which  leads  to  Bosjo 
Cloister,  he  observed  that  all  the  poor  of  the 
parish  were  coming  with  armfuls  of  bread  and 
long  candles,  which  they  had  received  at  the 
cloister  gate. 

When  Abbot  Hans  saw  all  these  Christmas 


200     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

preparations,  his  haste  increased.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  festivities  that  awaited  him, 
which  were  greater  than  any  the  others  would  be 
privileged  to  enjoy. 

But  the  lay  brother  whined  and  fretted  when 
he  saw  how  they  were  preparing  to  celebrate 
Christmas  in  every  humble  cottage.  He  grew 
more  and  more  anxious,  and  begged  and  implored 
Abbot  Hans  to  turn  back  and  not  to  throw  him- 
self deliberately  into  the  robber's  hands. 

Abbot  Hans  went  straight  ahead,  paying  no 
heed  to  his  lamentations.  He  left  the  plain 
behind  him  and  came  up  into  desolate  and  wild 
forest  regions.  Here  the  road  was  bad,  almost 
like  a  stony  and  burr-strewn  path,  with  neither 
bridge  nor  plank  to  help  them  over  brooklet  and 
rivulet.  The  farther  they  rode,  the  colder  it 
grew,  and  after  a  while  they  came  upon  snow- 
covered  ground. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  long  and  hazardous  ride 
through  the  forest.  They  climbed  steep  and 
sHppery  side  paths,  crawled  over  swamp  and 
marsh,  and  pushed  through  windfall  and  bram- 
ble. Just  as  daylight  was  waning,  the  robber 
boy  guided  them  across  a  forest  meadow, 
skirted  by  tall,  naked  leaf  trees  and  green  fir 
trees.  Back  of  the  meadow  loomed  a  mountain 
wall,  and  in  this  wall  they  saw  a  door  of  thick 


LEGEND  or  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     2or 

boards.  Now  Abbot  Hans  understood  that  they 
had  arrived,  and  dismounted.  The  child  opened 
the  heavy  door  for  him,  and  he  looked  into  a  poor 
mountain  grotto,  with  bare  stone  walls.  Robber 
Mother  was  seated  before  a  log  fire  that  burned 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Alongside  the  walls 
were  beds  of  virgin  pine  and  moss,  and  on  one 
of  these  beds  lay  Robber  Father  asleep. 

"Come  in,  you  out  there!"  shouted  Robber 
Mother  without  rising,  "and  fetch  the  horses  in 
with  you,  so  they  won't  be  destroyed  by  the 
night  cold." 

Abbot  Hans  walked  boldly  into  the  cave, 
and  the  lay  brother  followed.  Here  were  wretch- 
edness and  poverty!  and  nothing  was  done  to 
celebrate  Christmas.  Robber  Mother  had 
neither  brewed  nor  baked;  she  had  neither 
washed  nor  scoured.  The  youngsters  were  lying 
on  the  floor  around  a  kettle,  eating;  but  no 
better  food  was  provided  for  them  than  a  watery 
gruel. 

Robber  Mother  spoke  in  a  tone  as  haughty 
and  dictatorial  as  any  well-to-do  peasant  woman. 
"Sit  down  by  the  fire  and  warm  yourself,  Abbot 
Hans,"  said  she;  "and  if  you  have  food  with 
you,  eat,  for  the  food  which  we  in  the  forest 
prepare  you  would  n't  care  to  taste.  And  if 
you  are  tired  after  the  long  journey,  you  can 


202  LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

lie  down  on  one  of  these  beds  to  sleep.  You 
need  n't  be  afraid  of  oversleeping,  for  I  'm 
sitting  here  by  the  fire  keeping  watch.  I  shall 
awaken  you  in  time  to  see  that  which  you  have 
come  up  here  to  see." 

Abbot  Hans  obeyed  Robber  Mother  and 
brought  forth  his  food  sack;  but  he  was  so 
fatigued  after  the  journey  he  was  hardly  able  to 
eat,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  stretch  himself  on 
the  bed,  he  fell  asleep. 

The  lay  brother  was  also  assigned  a  bed  to 
rest  upon,  but  he  did  n't  dare  sleep,  as  he 
thought  he  had  better  keep  his  eye  on  Robber 
Father  to  prevent  his  getting  up  and  capturing 
Abbot  Hans.  But  gradually  fatigue  got  the 
better  of  him,  too,  and  he  dropped  into  a  doze. 

When  he  woke  up,  he  saw  that  Abbot  Hans 
had  left  his  bed  and  was  sitting  by  the  fire  talk- 
ing with  Robber  Mother.  The  outlawed  robber 
sat  also  by  the  fire.  He  was  a  tall,  raw-boned 
man  with  a  dull,  sluggish  appearance.  His  back 
was  turned  to  Abbot  Hans,  as  though  he  would 
have  it  appear  that  he  was  not  listening  to  the 
conversation. 

Abbot  Hans  was  telling  Robber  Mother  all 
about  the  Christmas  preparations  he  had  seen 
on  the  journey,  reminding  her  of  Christmas  feasts 
and  games  which  she  must  have  known  in  her 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     303 

youth,  when  she  lived  at  peace  with  mankind. 
"I'm  sorry  for  your  children,  who  can  never 
run  on  the  village  street  in  holiday  dress  or 
tumble  in  the  Christmas  straw,"  said  he. 

At  first  Robber  Mother  answered  in  short, 
gruflf  sentences,  but  by  degrees  she  became  more 
subdued  and  listened  more  intently.  Suddenly 
Robber  Father  turned  toward  Abbot  Hans  and 
shook  his  clenched  fist  in  his  face.  "You  miser- 
able monk!  did  you  come  here  to  coax  from  me 
my  wife  and  children?  Don't  you  know  that  I 
am  an  outlaw  and  may  not  leave  the  forest?" 

Abbot  Hans  looked  him  fearlessly  in  the  eyes. 
"It  is  my  purpose  to  get  a  letter  of  ransom  for 
you  from  Archbishop  Absalon,"  said  he.  He 
had  hardly  finished  speaking  when  the  robber 
and  his  wife  burst  out  laughing.  They  knew  well 
enough  the  kind  of  mercy  a  forest  robber  could 
expect  from  Bishop  Absalon! 

"Oh,  if  I  get  a  letter  of  ransom  from  Absalon," 
said  Robber  Father,  "then  I  '11  promise  you  that 
never  again  w^ll  I  steal  so  much  as  a  goose." 

The  lay  brother  was  annoyed  with  the  robber 
folk  for  daring  to  laugh  at  Abbot  Hans,  but  on 
his  own  account  he  was  well  pleased.  He  had 
seldom  seen  the  Abbot  sitting  more  peaceful  and 
meek  with  his  monks  at  Ovid  than  he  now  sat 
with  this  wild  robber  folk. 


204     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

Suddenly  Robber  Mother  rose.  "You  sit 
here  and  talk,  Abbot  Hans,"  she  said,  "so  that 
we  are  forgetting  to  look  at  the  forest.  Now 
I  can  hear,  even  in  this  cave,  how  the  Christmas 
bells  are  ringing." 

The  words  were  barely  uttered  when  they  all 
sprang  up  and  rushed  out.  But  in  the  forest  it 
was  still  dark  night  and  bleak  winter.  The  only 
thing  they  marked  was  a  distant  clang  borne 
on  a  light  south  wind. 

"How  can  this  bell  ringing  ever  awaken  the 
dead  forest?"  thought  Abbot  Hans.  For  now,  as 
he  stood  out  in  the  winter  darkness,  he  thought  it 
far  more  impossible  that  a  summer  garden  could 
spring  up  here  than  it  had  seemed  to  him  before. 

When  the  bells  had  been  ringing  a  few  mo- 
ments, a  sudden  illumination  penetrated  the 
forest;  the  next  moment  it  was  dark  again,  and 
then  the  light  came  back.  It  pushed  its  way 
forward  between  the  stark  trees,  like  a  shimmer- 
ing mist.  This  much  it  effected:  The  darkness 
merged  into  a  faint  daybreak.  Then  Abbot  Hans 
saw  that  the  snow  had  vanished  from  the  ground, 
as  if  some  one  had  removed  a  carpet,  and  the 
earth  began  to  take  on  a  green  covering.  Then 
the  ferns  shot  up  their  fronds,  rolled  like  a 
bishop's  staff.  The  heather  that  grew  on  the 
stony  hills  and  the  bog-myrtle  rooted  in  the 


LEGEND  OF   THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     205 

ground  moss  dressed  themselves  quickly  in  new 
bloom.  The  moss-tufts  thickened  and  raised 
themselves,  and  the  spring  blossoms  shot  upward 
their  swelling  buds,  which  already  had  a  touch 
of  color. 

Abbot  Hans'  heart  beat  fast  as  he  marked  the 
first  signs  of  the  forest's  awakening.  "Old  man 
that  I  am,  shall  I  behold  such  a  miracle?" 
thought  he,  and  the  tears  wanted  to  spring  to  his 
eyes.  Again  it  grew  so  hazy  that  he  feared  the 
darkness  would  once  more  cover  the  earth;  but 
almost  immediately  there  came  a  new  wave  of 
Hght.  It  brought  with  it  the  splash  of  rivulet  and 
the  rush  of  cataract.  Then  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
burst  into  bloom,  as  if  a  swarm  of  green  butter- 
flies came  flying  and  clustered  on  the  branches. 
It  was  not  only  trees  and  plants  that  awoke,  but 
crossbeaks  hopped  from  branch  to  branch,  and 
the  woodpeckers  hammered  on  the  limbs  until 
the  splinters  fairly  flew  around  them.  A  flock 
of  starlings  from  up  country  lighted  in  a  fir  top 
to  rest.  They  were  paradise  starlings.  The  tips 
of  each  tiny  feather  shone  in  brilliant  reds,  and, 
as  the  birds  moved,  they  glittered  like  so  many 
jewels. 

Again,  all  was  dark  for  an  instant,  but  soon 
there  came  a  new  light  wave.  A  fresh,  warm 
south  wind  blew  and  scattered  over  the  forest 


2o6     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

meadow  all  the  little  seeds  that  had  been  brought 
here  from  southern  lands  by  birds  and  ships  and 
winds,  and  which  could  not  thrive  elsewhere 
because  of  this  country's  cruel  cold.  These  took 
root  and  sprang  up  the  instant  they  touched  the 
ground. 

When  the  next  warm  wind  came  along,  the 
blueberries  and  lignon  ripened.  Cranes  and  wild 
geese  shrieked  in  the  air,  the  bullfinches  built 
nests,  and  the  baby  squirrels  began  playing  on 
the  branches  of  the  trees. 

Everything  came  so  fast  now  that  Abbot  Hans 
could  not  stop  to  reflect  on  how  immeasurably 
great  was  the  miracle  that  was  taking  place. 
He  had  time  only  to  use  his  eyes  and  ears.  The 
next  light  wave  that  came  rushing  in  brought 
with  it  the  scent  of  newly  ploughed  acres,  and 
far  off  in  the  distance  the  milkmaids  were  heard 
coaxing  the  cows  —  and  the  tinkle  of  the  sheep's 
bells.  Pine  and  spruce  trees  were  so  thickly 
clothed  with  red  cones  that  they  shone  Uke  crim^ 
son  mantles.  The  juniper  berries  changed  color 
every  second,  and  forest  flowers  covered  the 
ground  till  it  was  all  red,  blue,  and  yellow. 

Abbot  Hans  bent  down  to  the  earth  and  broke 
off  a  wild  strawberry  blossom,  and,  as  he  straight- 
ened up,  the  berry  ripened  in  his  hand. 

The  mother  fox  came  out  of  her  lair  with  a  big 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     207 

litter  of  black-legged  young.  She  went  up  to 
Robber  Mother  and  scratched  at  her  skirt,  and 
Robber  Mother  bent  down  to  her  and  praised 
her  young.  The  horned  owl,  who  had  just  begun 
his  night  chase,  was  astonished  at  the  light  and 
went  back  to  his  ravine  to  perch  for  the  night. 
The  male  cuckoo  crowed,  and  his  mate  stole  up 
to  the  nests  of  the  little  birds  with  her  egg  in  her 
mouth. 

Robber  Mother's  youngsters  let  out  perfect 
shrieks  of  delight.  They  stuffed  themselves  with 
^vild  strawberries  that  hung  on  the  bushes,  large 
as  pine  cones.  One  of  them  played  with  a  litter 
of  young  hares;  another  ran  a  race  with  some 
young  crows,  which  had  hopped  from  their  nest 
before  they  were  really  ready;  a  third  caught  up 
an  adder  from  the  ground  and  wound  it  around 
his  neck  and  arm. 

Robber  Father  was  standing  out  on  a  marsh 
eating  raspberries.  When  he  glanced  up,  a  big 
black  bear  stood  beside  him.  Robber  Father 
broke  off  an  osier  twig  and  struck  the  bear  on 
the  nose.  "Keep  to  your  own  ground,  you!" 
he  said;  "this  is  my  turf."  Then  the  huge  bear 
turned  around  and  lumbered  off  in  another 
direction. 

New  waves  of  warmth  and  light  kept  coming, 
and  now  they  brought  with  them  seeds  from  the 


2o8     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

star-flower.  Golden  pollen  from  rye  fields  fairly 
flew  in  the  air.  Then  came  butterflies,  so  big 
that  they  looked  like  flying  lilies.  The  bee-hive 
in  a  hollow  oak  was  already  so  full  of  honey  that 
it  dripped  down  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Then 
all  the  flowers  whose  seeds  had  been  brought 
from  foreign  lands  began  to  blossom.  The  love- 
liest roses  climbed  up  the  mountain  wall  in  a 
race  with  the  blackberry  vines,  and  from  the 
forest  meadow  sprang  flowers  as  large  as  human 
faces. 

Abbot  Hans  thought  of  the  flower  he  was  to 
pluck  for  Bishop  Absalon;  but  each  new  flower 
that  appeared  was  more  beautiful  than  the 
others,  and  he  wanted  to  choose  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all. 

Wave  upon  wave  kept  coming  until  the  air  was 
so  filled  with  light  that  it  gUttered.  All  the  life 
and  beauty  and  joy  of  summer  smiled  on  Abbot 
Hans.  He  felt  that  earth  could  bring  no  greater 
happiness  than  that  which  welled  up  about  him, 
and  he  said  to  himself,  "I  do  not  know  what  new 
beauties  the  next  wave  that  comes  can  bring 
with  it." 

But  the  Ught  kept  streaming  in,  and  now  it 
seemed  to  Abbot  Hans  that  it  carried  with  it 
something  from  an  infinite  distance.  He  felt  a 
celestial  atmosphere  enfolding  him,  and  tram- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     209 

blingly  he  began  to  anticipate,  now  that  earth's 
joys  had  come,  the  glories  of  heaven  were 
approaching. 

Then  Abbot  Hans  marked  how  all  grew  still; 
the  birds  hushed  their  songs,  the  flowers  ceased 
growing,  and  the  young  foxes  played  no  more. 
The  glory  now  nearing  was  such  that  the  heart 
wanted  to  stop  beating;  the  eyes  wept  without 
one's  knowing  it;  the  soul  longed  to  soar  away 
into  the  Eternal.  From  far  in  the  distance  faint 
harp  tones  were  heard,  and  celestial  song,  Hke  a 
soft  murmur,  reached  him. 

Abbot  Hans  clasped  his  hands  and  dropped 
to  his  knees.  His  face  was  radiant  with  bliss. 
Never  had  he  dreamed  that  even  in  this  Ufe  it 
should  be  granted  him  to  taste  the  joys  of 
heaven,  and  to  hear  angels  sing  Christmas 
carols ! 

But  beside  Abbot  Hans  stood  the  lay  brother 
who  had  accompanied  him.  In  his  mind  there 
were  dark  thoughts.  "This  cannot  be  a  true 
miracle,"  he  thought,  "since  it  is  revealed  to 
malefactors.  This  does  not  come  from  God, 
but  has  its  origin  in  witchcraft  and  is  sent  hither 
by  Satan.  It  is  the  Evil  One's  power  that  is 
tempting  us  and  compelling  us  to  see  that  which 
has  no  real  existence." 

From  afar  were  heard  the  sound  of  angel  harps 

14 


210     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

and   the   tones   of   a   Miserere.     But   the   lay 
brother  thought  it  was  the  evil  spirits  of  hell 
coming  closer.    "They  would  enchant  and  seduce 
us,"   sighed   he,    "and   we   shall   be   sold   into^ 
perdition." 

The  angel  throng  was  so  near  now  that  Abbot 
Hans  saw  their  bright  forms  through  the  forest 
branches.  The  lay  brother  saw  them,  too; 
but  back  of  all  this  wondrous  beauty  he  saw 
only  some  dread  evil.  For  him  it  was  the  devil 
who  performed  these  wonders  on  the  anniversary 
of  our  Saviour's  birth.  It  was  done  simply 
for  the  purpose  of  more  effectually  deluding 
poor  human  beings. 

All  the  while  the  birds  had  been  circling 
around  the  head  of  Abbot  Hans,  and  they  let 
him  take  them  in  his  hands.  But  all  the  animals 
were  afraid  of  the  lay  brother;  no  bird  perched 
on  his  shoulder,  no  snake  played  at  his  feet. 
Then  there  came  a  little  forest  dove.  When 
she  marked  that  the  angels  were  nearing,  she 
plucked  up  courage  and  flew  down  on  the  lay 
brother's  shoulder  and  laid  her  head  against 
his  cheek. 

Then  it  appeared  to  him  as  if  sorcery  were 
come  right  upon  him,  to  tempt  and  corrupt  him. 
He  struck  with  his  hand  at  the  forest  dove  and 
cried  in  such  a  loud  voice  that  it  rang  through- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     211 

out  the  forest,  ''Go  thou  back  to  hell,  whence 
thou  art  come!" 

Just  then  the  angels  were  so  near  that  Abbot 
Hans  felt  the  feathery  touch  of  their  great  wings, 
and  he  bowed  down  to  earth  in  reverent  greeting. 

But  when  the  lay  brother's  words  sounded, 
their  song  was  hushed  and  the  holy  guests  turned 
in  flight.  At  the  same  time  the  light  and  the 
mild  warmth  vanished  in  unspeakable  terror 
for  the  darkness  and  cold  in  a  human  heart. 
Darkness  sank  over  the  earth,  like  a  coverlet; 
frost  came,  all  the  growths  shrivelled  up;  the 
animals  and  birds  hastened  away;  the  rushing 
of  streams  was  hushed ;  the  leaves  dropped  from 
the  trees,  rustUng  like  rain. 

Abbot  Hans  felt  how  his  heart,  which  had  but 
lately  swelled  with  bUss,  was  now  contracting 
with  insufferable  agony.  "I  can  never  outlive 
this,"  thought  he,  "that  the  angels  from  heaven 
had  been  so  close  to  me  and  were  driven  away; 
that  they  wanted  to  sing  Christmas  carols  for 
me  and  were  driven  to  flight." 

Then  he  remembered  the  flower  he  had  prom- 
ised Bishop  Absalon,  and  at  the  last  moment 
he  fumbled  among  the  leaves  and  moss  to  try 
and  find  a  blossom.  But  he  sensed  how  the 
ground  under  his  fingers  froze  and  how  the 
white  snow  came  gliding  over  the  ground.    Then 


212     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

his  heart  caused  him  ever  greater  anguish.  He 
could  not  rise,  but  fell  prostrate  on  the  ground 
and  lay  there. 

When  the  robber  folk  and  the  lay  brother 
had  groped  their  way  back  to  the  cave,  they 
missed  Abbot  Hans.  They  took  brands  with 
them  and  went  out  to  search  for  him.  They 
found  him  dead  upon  the  coverlet  of  snow. 

Then  the  lay  brother  began  weeping  and  la- 
menting, for  he  understood  that  it  was  he  who 
had  killed  Abbot  Hans  because  he  had  dashed 
from  him  the  cup  of  happiness  which  he  had 
been  thirsting  to  drain  to  its  last  drop. 

When  Abbot  Hans  had  been  carried  down  to 
Ovid,  those  who  took  charge  of  the  dead  saw 
that  he  held  his  right  hand  locked  tight  around 
something  which  he  must  have  grasped  at  the 
moment  of  death.  When  they  finally  got  his 
hand  open,  they  found  that  the  thing  which 
he  had  held  in  such  an  iron  grip  was  a  pair  of 
white  root  bulbs,  which  he  had  torn  from  among 
the  moss  and  leaves. 

When  the  lay  brother  who  had  accompanied 
Abbot  Hans  saw  the  bulbs,  he  took  them  and 
planted  them  in  Abbot  Hans'  herb  garden. 

He  guarded  them  the  whole  year  to  see  if  any 
flower  would  spring  from  them.     But  in  vain 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE     213 

he  waited  through  the  spring,  the  summer,  and 
the  autumn.  Finally,  when  winter  had  set  in 
and  all  the  leaves  and  the  flowers  were  dead,  he 
ceased  caring  for  them. 

But  when  Christmas  Eve  came  again,  he  was 
so  strongly  reminded  of  Abbot  Hans  that  he 
wandered  out  into  the  garden  to  think  of  him. 
And  look !  as  he  came  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
planted  the  bare  root  bulbs,  he  saw  that  from 
them  had  sprung  flourishing  green  stalks,  which 
bore  beautiful  flowers  with  silver  white  leaves. 

He  called  out  all  the  monks  at  Ovid,  and  when 
they  saw  that  this  plant  bloomed  on  Christmas 
Eve,  when  all  the  other  growths  were  as  if  dead, 
they  understood  that  this  flower  had  in  truth 
been  plucked  by  Abbot  Hans  from  the  Christmas 
garden  in  Goinge  forest.  Then  the  lay  brother 
asked  the  monks  if  he  might  take  a  few  blossoms 
to  Bishop  Absalon. 

And  when  he  appeared  before  Bishop  Absalon, 
he  gave  him  the  flowers  and  said:  "Abbot  Hans 
sends  you  these.  They  are  the  flowers  he  prom- 
ised to  pick  for  you  from  the  garden  in  Goinge 
forest." 

When  Bishop  Absalon  beheld  the  flowers, 
which  had  sprung  from  the  earth  in  darkest 
winter,  and  heard  the  words,  he  turned  as  pale 
as  if  he  had  met  a  ghost.    He  sat  in  silence  a 


214     LEGEND  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE 

moment;  thereupon  he  said,  "Abbot  Hans  has 
faithfully  kept  his  word  and  I  shall  also  keep 
mine."  And  he  ordered  that  a  letter  of  ransom 
be  drawn  up  for  the  wild  robber  who  was  outr 
lawed  and  had  been  forced  to  Uve  in  the  forest 
ever  since  his  youth. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  the  lay  brother,  who 
departed  at  once  for  the  Robbers'  Cave.  When 
he  stepped  in  there  on  Christmas  Day,  the  robber 
came  toward  him  with  axe  upUfted.  "I'd  like 
to  hack  you  monks  into  bits,  as  many  as  you 
are!"  said  he.  "It  must  be  your  fault  that 
Goinge  forest  did  not  last  night  dress  itself  in 
Christmas  bloom." 

"The  fault  is  mine  alone,"  said  the  lay  brother, 
"and  I  will  gladly  die  for  it;  but  first  I  must 
deliver  a  message  from  Abbot  Hans."  And  he 
drew  forth  the  Bishop's  letter  and  told  the  man 
that  he  was  free.  "Hereafter  you  and  your 
children  shall  play  in  the  Christmas  straw  and 
celebrate  your  Christmas  among  people,  just  as 
Abbot  Hans  wished  to  have  it,"  said  he. 

Then  Robber  Father  stood  there  pale  and 
speechless,  but  Robber  Mother  said  in  his  name, 
"Abbot  Hans  has  indeed  kept  his  word,  and 
Robber  Father  will  keep  his." 

When  the  robber  and  his  wife  left  the  cave, 
the  lay  brother  moved  in  and  lived  all  alone  in 


LEGEND  OF   THE  CHRISTMAS  ROSE      215 

the  forest,  in  constant  meditation  and  prayer 
that  his  hard-heartcdness  might  be  forgiven 
him. 

But  Goinge  forest  never  again  celebrated  the 
hour  of  our  Saviour's  birth;  and  of  all  its  glory, 
there  lives  to-day  only  the  plant  which  Abbot 
Hans  had  plucked.  It  has  been  named  Christ- 
mas Rose.  And  each  year  at  Christmastide  she 
sends  forth  from  the  earth  her  green  stalks  and 
white  blossoms,  as  if  she  never  could  forget  that 
she  had  once  grown  in  the  great  Christmas  garden 
at  Goinge  forest. 


A  Story  from  Jerusalem 


A  Story   from  Jerusalem 

In  the  old  and  time-honored  mosque,  El  Aksa, 
in  Jerusalem,  there  is  a  long,  winding  path  lead- 
ing from  the  main  entrance  up  to  a  very  deep 
and  wide  window-niche.  In  this  niche  a  very 
old  and  much  worn  rug  is  spread;  and  upon  this 
rug,  day  in  and  day  out,  sits  old  Mesullam,  who 
is  a  fortune-teller  and  dream-interpreter,  and 
who  for  a  paltry  penny  serves  the  visitors  to  the 
mosque  by  prying  into  their  future  destinies. 

It  happened  one  afternoon,  several  years  ago, 
that  Mesullam,  who  sat  as  usual  in  his  window, 
was  so  ill-natured  that  he  would  n't  even  return 
the  greetings  of  the  passers-by.  No  one  thought, 
however,  of  feeling  offended  at  his  rudeness, 
because  every  one  knew  that  he  was  grieving 
over  a  humiliation  which  had  been  put  upon 
him  that  day. 

At  that  time  a  mighty  monarch  from  the 
Occident  was  visiting  Jerusalem,  and  in  the 
forenoon  the  distinguished  stranger  with  his 
retinue  had  wandered  through  El  Aksa.  Before 
his  arrival  the  superintendent  of  the  mosque 


220  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

had  commanded  the  servants  to  scour  and 
dust  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  old  build- 
ing, at  the  same  time  giving  orders  that 
MesuUam  should  move  out  of  his  accustomed 
place.  He  had  found  that  it  would  be  simply 
impossible  to  let  him  remain  there  during 
the  visit  of  the  distinguished  guest.  It  was 
not  only  that  his  rug  was  very  ragged,  or  that 
he  had  piled  up  around  him  a  lot  of  dirty  sacks 
in  which  he  kept  his  belongings,  but  Mesullam 
himself  was  anything  but  an  ornament  to  the 
mosque!  He  was,  in  reality,  an  inconceivably 
ugly  old  negro.  His  lips  were  enormous,  his 
chin  protruded  aggressively,  his  brow  was 
exceedingly  low,  and  his  nose  was  almost  like  a 
snout;  and  in  addition  to  these,  Mesullam  had  a 
coarse  and  wrinkled  skin  and  a  clumsy,  thick- 
set body,  which  was  carelessly  draped  in  a  dirty 
white  shawl.  So  one  can't  wonder  that  he  was 
forbidden  to  show  himself  in  the  mosque  while 
the  honored  guest  was  there! 

Poor  Mesullam,  who  knew  well  enough  that, 
despite  his  ugliness,  he  was  a  very  wise  man, 
experienced  a  bitter  disappointment  in  that  he 
was  not  to  see  the  royal  traveller.  He  had  hoped 
that  he  might  give  him  some  proofs  of  the  great 
accomplishments  which  he  possessed  in  occult 
things  and  in  this  way  add  to  his  own  glory  and 


A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  221 

renown.  Since  this  hope  had  miscarried,  he 
sat  hour  after  hour  in  a  queer  position,  and 
mourned,  with  his  long  arms  stretched  upward 
and  his  head  thrown  far  back,  as  though  he  were 
calling  upon  heaven  for  justice. 

When  it  drew  on  toward  evening,  Mesullam 
was  wakened  from  his  state  of  all-absorbing 
grief  by  a  cheery  voice  calling  him.  It  was  a 
Syrian  who,  accompanied  by  another  traveller, 
had  come  up  to  the  soothsayer.  He  told  him 
that  the  stranger  whom  he  was  conducting  wished 
for  a  proof  of  Oriental  wisdom,  and  that  he  had 
spoken  to  him  of  Mesullam's  ability  to  interpret 
dreams. 

Mesullam  answered  not  a  word  to  this,  but 
maintained  his  former  attitude  rigidly.  When 
the  guide  asked  him  again  if  he  would  not  Usten 
to  the  dreams  the  stranger  wished  to  relate  to 
him  and  interpret  them,  his  arms  dropped  and 
he  crossed  them  on  his  breast.  Assuming  the 
attitude  of  a  wronged  man,  he  answered  that 
this  evening  his  soul  was  so  filled  with  his  own 
troubles  that  he  could  n't  judge  anything  clearly 
which  concerned  another. 

But  the  stranger,  who  had  a  buoyant  and  com- 
manding personality,  did  n't  seem  to  mind  his 
objections.  As  there  was  no  chair  handy,  he 
kicked  aside  the  rug  and  seated  himself  in  the 


222  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

window-niche.  Then  he  began,  in  a  clear  and 
vibrant  voice,  to  narrate  a  few  dreams,  which 
later  were  translated  for  the  soothsayer  by  the 
guide. 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  traveller,  "that  a  iew 
years  ago  I  was  at  Cairo,  in  Egypt.  Since  he 
is  a  learned  man,  naturally  he  knows  there  is  a 
mosque  there,  called  El  Azhar,  which  is  the 
most  celebrated  institution  of  learning  in  the 
Orient.  I  went  there  one  day  to  visit  it,  and 
found  that  the  whole  colossal  structure  —  all 
its  rooms  and  arcades,  all  its  entrances  and  halls 
were  filled  with  students.  There  were  old 
men  who  had  devoted  their  entire  Uves  to  the 
quest  for  knowledge,  and  children  who  were  just 
learning  to  form  their  letters.  There  were 
giantesque  negroes  from  the  heart  of  Africa; 
lithe,  handsome  youths  from  India  and  Arabia; 
far-travelled  strangers  from  Barbary,  from 
Georgia,  from  every  land  where  the  natives 
embrace  the  doctrines  of  the  Koran.  Close  to 
the  pillars  —  I  was  told  that  in  El  Azhar  there 
were  as  many  teachers  as  there  were  pillars  — 
the  instructors  were  squatted  on  their  rugs, 
while  their  students,  who  were  arranged  in  a 
circle  around  them,  eagerly  followed  their 
lectures,  which  were  accompanied  by  swaying 
movements  of  their  bodies.    And  tell  him  that, 


A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  223 

although  El  Azhar  is  in  no  way  comparable  to 
the  great  Occidental  seats  of  learning,  I  was 
nevertheless  astonished  at  what  I  saw  there.  I 
remarked  to  myself:  'Ah,  this  is  Islam's  great 
stronghold  and  defence!  From  here  Moham- 
med's young  champions  go  out.  Here,  at  El 
Azhar,  the  potions  of  wisdom  that  keep  the 
Koran's  doctrines  healthy  and  vigorous  are 
blended.'" 

All  of  this  the  traveller  said  almost  in  one 
breath.  Now  he  made  a  pause,  so  that  the 
guide  would  have  an  opportunity  to  interpret 
for  the  soothsayer.    Then  he  continued: 

"Now  tell  him  that  El  Azhar  made  such  a 
powerful  impression  upon  me  that  on  the  follow- 
ing night  I  saw  it  again  in  a  dream.  I  saw  the 
wliite  marble  structure  and  the  many  students 
dressed  in  white  mantles  and  white  turbans  — 
as  is  the  custom  at  El  Azhar.  I  wandered 
through  halls  and  courts  and  was  again  aston- 
ished at  what  a  splendid  fortress  and  wall  of 
protection  this  was  for  Mohammedanism.  Fi- 
nally —  in  the  dream  —  I  came  to  the  minaret 
upon  which  the  prayer-crier  stands  to  inform  the 
faithful  that  the  hour  of  prayer  has  struck.  And 
I  saw  the  stairway  which  winds  up  to  the 
minaret,  and  I  saw  a  prayer-crier  walking  up 
the  steps.    He  wore  a  black  mantle  and  a  white 


224  ^  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

turban,  like  the  others,  and  as  he  went  up  the 
stairs  I  could  not  at  first  see  his  face,  but  when 
he  had  made  a  few  turns  on  the  spiral  stairway, 
he  happened  to  turn  his  face  toward  me,  and 
then  I  saw  that  it  was  Christ.^'  ^'^ 

The  speaker  made  a  short  pause,  and  his  chest 
was  expanded  for  a  deep  inhalation.  "I  shall 
never  forget,  although  it  was  only  a  dream," 
he  exclaimed,  "what  an  impression  it  made 
upon  me  to  see  Christ  walking  up  the  steps  to 
the  minaret  in  El  Azhar!  To  me  it  seemed  so 
glorious  and  significant  that  he  had  come  to  this 
stronghold  of  Islam  to  call  out  the  hours  of 
prayer  that  I  leaped  up  in  the  dream  and 
awaked." 

Here  the  traveller  made  another  pause  to  let 
the  guide  interpret  for  the  soothsayer.  But 
this  appeared  to  be  well-nigh  useless  labor. 
Mesullam  sat  all  the  while,  with  his  hands  on 
his  sides,  rocking  back  and  forth,  and  with  his 
eyes  half  closed.  He  seemed  to  want  to  say: 
"Inasmuch  as  I  cannot  escape  these  importunate 
people,  at  least  I  will  let  them  see  that  I  don't 
care  to  listen  to  what  they  have  to  say.  I'll 
try  and  rock  myself  to  sleep.  It  will  be  the 
best  way  to  show  them  how  little  I  care  about 
them." 

The  guide  intimated  to  the  traveller  that  all 


A   STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  225 

their  trouble  would  be  in  vain  and  they  would  n't 
hear  a  sensible  word  from  Mesullam  while  he  was 
in  this  mood.  But  the  European  stranger  seemed 
to  be  entranced  by  Mesullam's  indescribable 
ugliness  and  extraordinary  behavior.  He  looked 
at  him  with  the  pleasure  of  a  child  when  it  is 
watching  a  wild  animal  in  a  menagerie,  and  he 
desired  to  continue  the  interview. 

''Tell  him  that  I  would  n't  have  troubled  him 
to  interpret  this  dream,"  he  said,  ''had  it  not, 
in  a  certain  sense,  come  to  me  again.  Let  him 
know  that  two  weeks  ago  I  visited  the  Sophia' 
Mosque  at  Constantinople,  and  that  I,  after 
wandering  through  this  magnificent  building, 
stepped  up  on  a  minaret  in  order  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  auditorium.  Tell  him,  also,  that 
they  allowed  me  to  come  into  the  mosque  during 
a  service,  when  it  was  filled  with  people.  Upon 
each  of  the  innumerable  prayer  rugs  which 
covered  the  whole  floor  of  the  main  hall,  a  man 
was  standing  and  saying  his  prayers.  All  who 
took  part  in  the  service  simultaneously  made  the 
same  movements.  All  fell  upon  their  knees  and 
threw  themselves  on  their  faces  and  raised  them- 
selves, at  the  same  time  whispering  their  prayers 
very  low;  but  from  the  almost  imperceptible 
movements  of  so  many  lips  came  a  mysterious 
murmur,  which  rose  toward  the  high  arches  and 

IS 


226  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

died  away,  time  and  again.  Then  there  came 
melodious  responses  from  remote  passages  and 
galleries.  It  was  so  strange  altogether  that  one 
wondered  if  it  was  not  the  Spirit  of  God  that 
poured  into  the  old  sanctuary." 

The  traveller  made  another  pause.  He 
observed  Mesullam  carefully,  while  the  guide 
interpreted  his  speech.  It  actually  appeared  as 
if  he  had  tried  to  win  the  negro's  approbation 
with  his  eloquence.  And  it  seemed,  too,  as 
though  he  would  succeed,  for  Mesullam's  half- 
closed  eyes  flashed  once,  like  a  coal  that  is 
beginning  to  take  fire.  But  the  soothsayer, 
stubborn  as  a  child  that  will  not  let  itself  be 
amused,  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast  and 
began  an  even  more  impatient  rocking  of  his 
body. 

"Tell  him,"  resumed  the  stranger,  "tell  him 
that  I  have  never  seen  people  pray  with  such 
fervor!  To  me  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  the  sub- 
lime beauty  of  this  marvellous  structure  which 
created  this  atmosphere  of  ecstasy.  Verily  this 
is  still  an  Islam  bulwark!  This  is  the  home  of 
devoutness!  From  this  great  mosque  emanate 
the  faith  and  enthusiasm  which  make  Islam  a 
mighty  power." 

Here  he  paused  again,  noting  carefully  Mesul- 
lam's play  of  features  during  its  interpretation. 


A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  227 

Not  a  trace  of  interest  was  discernible  in  them. 
But  the  stranger  was  evidently  a  man  who  liked 
to  hear  himself  talk.  His  own  words  intoxi- 
cated him;  he  would  have  become  ill-natured 
had  he  not  been  allowed  to  proceed. 

''Well,"  said  he,  when  it  was  his  turn  again  to 
speak,  "I  cannot  rightly  explain  what  happened 
to  me.  Possibly  the  faint  odor  from  the  hundreds 
of  oil  lamps,  together  with  the  low  murmurings 
of  the  devotees,  lulled  me  into  a  kind  of  stupe- 
faction. I  could  not  help  but  close  my  eyes  as  I 
stood  leaning  against  a  pillar.  Soon  sleep,  or 
rather  insensibility,  overcame  me.  Probably 
it  did  not  last  more  than  a  minute,  but  during 
this  interval  I  was  entirely  removed  from  reality. 
While  in  this  trance  I  could  see  the  whole  Sophia 
Mosque  before  me,  with  all  the  praying  people; 
but  now  I  saw  what  I  had  not  hitherto  observed. 
Up  in  the  dome  were  scaffoldings,  and  on  these 
stood  a  number  of  workmen  with  paint  pots 
and  brushes. 

"Tell  him,  if  he  does  not  already  know  it," 
continued  the  narrator,  "that  Sophia  Mosque 
was  once  a  Christian  church,  and  that  its  arches 
and  dome  are  covered  with  sacred  Christian 
mosaics,  although  the  Turks  have  painted  out 
all  these  pictures  with  plain  yellow  paint.  And 
it  appeared  to  me  as  if  the  yellow  paint  in  the 


228  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

dome  had  peeled  off  in  a  couple  of  places  and 
that  the  painters  had  clambered  up  on  the 
scaffolding  to  touch  up  the  picture.  But,  look! 
when  one  of  them  raised  his  brush  to  fill  in  the 
color,  another  large  piece  scaled  off,  and  sud- 
denly one  saw  from  behind  it  a  beautiful  paint- 
ing of  the  Christ  emerge.  Again  the  painter 
raised  his  arm  to  paint  out  the  picture,  but  the 
arm,  which  appeared  to  be  numb  and  powerless, 
dropped  down  before  this  beautiful  face;  at  the 
same  time  the  paint  dropped  from  the  entire 
dome  and  arch,  and  Christ  was  visible  there 
in  all  his  glory,  among  angels  and  heavenly 
hosts.  Then  the  painter  cried  out,  and  all  the 
worshippers  down  on  the  floor  of  the  mosque 
raised  their  heads.  And  when  they  saw  the 
heavenly  hosts  surrounding  the  Saviour,  they 
sent  up  a  cry  of  joy,  and  when  I  witnessed  this 
joy,  I  was  seized  with  such  strong  emotion  that 
I  waked  instantly.  Then  everything  was  like 
itself.  The  mosaics  were  hidden  under  the 
yellow  paint  and  the  devotees  continued  all  the 
while  to  invoke  Allah." 

When  the  interpreter  had  translated  this, 
Mesullam  opened  one  eye  and  regarded  the 
stranger.  He  saw  a  man  who  he  thought  re- 
sembled all  other  Occidentals  that  wandered 
through  the  mosque.    "I  don't  believe  the  pale- 


A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  229 

faced  stranger  has  seen  any  visions,"  thought 
he.  "  He  has  not  the  dark  eyes  that  can  see  what 
is  behind  the  veil  of  mystery.  I  think,  rather, 
that  he  came  here  to  make  sport  of  me.  I  must 
beware  lest  on  this  accursed  day  I  be  overtaken 
by  another  humiliation." 

The  stranger  spoke  anon:  "You  know,  O 
Dream  Interpreter!"  turning  now  direct  to 
Mesullam,  as  if  he  thought  that  he  could  under- 
stand him,  despite  his  foreign  tongue  —  "you 
know  that  a  distinguished  foreigner  is  visiting 
Jerusalem  at  present,  and  on  his  account  they 
have  talked  of  opening  the  walled-up  gate  in 
Jerusalem's  ring-wall  —  the  one  they  call  '  the 
Golden'  and  which  is  believed  to  be  the  gate 
through  which  Jesus  rode  into  Jerusalem  on 
Palm  Sunday.  They  have  actually  been  think- 
ing of  doing  the  distinguished  traveller  the  honor 
of  letting  him  ride  into  the  city  through  a  gate 
which  has  been  walled  up  for  centuries;  but  they 
were  held  back  by  an  old  prophecy  wliich 
foretells  that  when  this  gate  is  opened  the  Oc- 
cidentals will  march  in  through  it  to  take 
possession  of  Jerusalem. 

"And  now  you  shall  hear  what  happened  to 
me  last  night.  The  weather  was  superb;  it 
was  glorious  moonlight,  and  I  had  gone  out 
alone  to  take  a  quiet  promenade  aroimd  the  Holy 


230  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

City.  I  walked  outside  the  ring-wall  on  the 
narrow  path  that  extends  all  round  the  wall, 
and  my  thoughts  were  borne  so  far  back  into 
distant  ages  that  I  scarcely  remembered  where 
I  was.  All  of  a  sudden  I  began  to  feel  tired.  I 
wondered  if  I  should  not  soon  come  to  a  gate  in 
the  wall,  through  which  I  might  get  into  the  city 
and  thus  return  to  my  quarters  by  a  shorter 
road.  Well,  just  as  I  was  thinking  of  this,  I  saw 
a  man  open  a  large  gate  in  the  wall  directly  in 
front  of  me.  He  opened  it  wide  and  beckoned  to 
me  that  I  might  pass  in  through  it.  I  was  ab- 
sorbed in  my  dreams  and  hardly  knew  how  far 
I  had  been  walking.  I  was  somewhat  surprised 
that  there  was  a  gate  here,  but  I  thought  no 
more  about  the  matter  and  walked  through  it. 
As  soon  as  I  had  passed  through  the  deep  arch- 
way, the  gate  closed  with  a  sharp  clang.  When 
I  turned  round,  there  was  no  opening  visible, 
only  a  walled-up  gate  —  the  one  called  the 
Golden.  Before  me  lay  the  temple  place,  the 
broad  Haram  plateau,  in  the  centre  of  which 
Omar's  Mosque  is  enthroned.  And  you  know 
that  no  gate  in  the  ring-wall  leads  thither 
but  the  Gk)lden,  which  is  not  only  closed  but 
walled  up. 

"You  can  understand  that  I  thought  I  'd 
gone  mad;  that  I  dreamed  I  had  tried  in  vain  to 


A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM  231 

find  some  explanation  of  tliis.  I  looked  around 
for  the  man  who  had  let  me  in.  He  had  van- 
ished and  I  could  not  fmd  him.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  saw  him  all  the  plainer  in  memory  — 
the  tall  and  slightly  bent  figure,  the  beautiful 
locks,  the  mild  visage,  the  parted  beard.  It 
was  Christ,  soothsayer,  Christ  once  again. 

"Tell  me  now,  you  who  can  look  into  the  hid- 
den, what  mean  my  dreams?  What,  more  than 
all,  can  be  the  meaning  of  my  having  really  and 
truly  passed  through  the  Golden  Gate?  Even 
at  this  moment  I  do  not  know  how  it  happened, 
but  I  have  done  so.  Tell  me,  now,  what  these 
three  things  can  mean!" 

The  interpreter  translated  this  for  Mesullam, 
but  the  soothsayer  was  all  the  while  in  the  same 
suspicious  and  crabbed  mood.  *'I  am  certain 
that  this  stranger  wants  to  poke  fun  at  me,"  he 
thought.  "Perchance  he  would  provoke  me  to 
anger  with  all  this  talk  about  Christ?" 

He  would  have  concluded  not  to  answer  at 
all;  but  when  the  interpreter  insisted,  he  mut- 
tered a  few  words. 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  the  traveller 
eagerly. 

"He  says  he  has  nothing  to  say  to  you  but 
that  dreams  are  dreams." 

"Then    tell    him    from    me,"    retorted    the 


232  A  STORY  FROM  JERUSALEM 

stranger,  somewhat  exasperated,  "that  this  is 
not  always  true.  It  depends  entirely  upon  who 
dreams  them." 

Before  these  words  had  been  interpreted  to 
Mesullam,  the  European  had  arisen  and  with 
quick  and  elastic  step  had  walked  toward  the 
long  passage-way. 

But  Mesullam  sat  still  and  mused  over  his 
answer  for  five  minutes.  Then  he  fell  upon  his 
face,  utterly  undone.  "Allah,  Allah!  Twice 
on  the  same  day  Fortune  has  passed  by  me 
without  my  having  captured  her.  What  hath 
thy  servant  done  to  displease  thee?" 


Why  the  Pope  Lived  to  be  so  Old 


Why  the  Pope  Lived  to 
be  so  Old 


It  happened  at  Rome  in  the  early  nineties. 
Leo  XIII  was  just  then  at  the  height  of  his 
fame  and  greatness.  All  true  Catholics  re- 
joiced at  his  successes  and  triumphs,  which  in 
truth  were  subHme.  And,  even  for  those  who 
could  not  grasp  the  great  poUtical  events,  it  was 
plain  that  the  power  of  the  Church  was  again 
coming  to  the  front.  Any  one  at  all  could  see 
that  new  cloisters  were  going  up  everywhere  and 
that  throngs  of  pilgrims  were  beginning  to  pour 
into  Italy,  as  in  olden  times.  In  many,  many 
places  one  saw  the  old,  dilapidated  churches  in 
process  of  restoration,  damaged  mosaics  being 
put  in  order,  and  the  treasure-vaults  of  the 
churches  being  filled  with  golden  relic-boxes  and 
jewelled  exhibits. 

Right  in  the  midst  of  this  progressive  period 
the  Roman  people  were  alarmed  by  the  news  that 
the  Pope  had  been  taken  ill.  He  was  said  to  be 
in  a  very  precarious  condition;  it  was  even 
rumored  that  he  was  dying. 


236    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

His  condition  was,  too,  in  a  great  degree  seri- 
ous. The  Pope's  physicians  issued  bulletins 
which  inspired  but  little  hope.  It  was  main- 
tained that  the  Pope's  great  age  —  he  was  then 
ninety  years  old  —  made  it  seem  almost  incred- 
ible that  he  could  survive  this  attack. 

Naturally,  the  Pope's  illness  caused  great  un- 
rest. In  all  the  churches  in  Rome  prayers  were 
said  for  his  recovery.  The  newspapers  were 
filled  with  communications  regarding  the  prog- 
ress of  the  illness.  The  Cardinals  were  begin- 
ning to  take  steps  and  measures  for  the  new 
Papal  election. 

Everywhere  they  bemoaned  the  approaching 
demise  of  the  brilliant  leader.  They  feared  that 
the  good  fortune  which  had  followed  the 
Church's  standard  under  Leo  XIII  might  not  be 
faithful  to  it  under  the  leadership  of  his  succes- 
sor. There  were  many  who  had  hoped  that  this 
Pope  would  succeed  in  winning  back  Rome  and 
the  Ecclesiastical  States.  Others,  again,  had 
dreamed  that  he  would  bring  back  into  the  bosom 
of  the  Church  some  of  the  large  Protestant 
countries. 

For  each  second  that  was  passing,  fear  and 
anxiety  grew  apace.  As  night  came  on,  in  many 
homes  the  inmates  would  not  retire.  The 
churches  were  kept  open  until  long  past  mid- 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    237 

night,  that  the  anxious  ones  might  have  an 
opportunity  to  go  in  and  pray. 

Among  these  throngs  of  devotees  there  was 
certainly  more  than  one  poor  soul  who  cried 
out:  ''Dear  Lord,  take  my  life  instead  of  his! 
Let  him,  who  has  done  so  much  for  Thy  glory, 
live,  and  extinguish  instead  my  life-flame,  which 
burns  to  no  one's  use!" 

But  if  the  Angel  of  Death  had  taken  one  of 
these  devotees  at  his  word  and  had  suddenly 
stepped  up  to  him,  with  sword  raised,  to  exact 
the  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  one  might  wonder 
somewhat  as  to  how  he  would  have  behaved. 
No  doubt  he  would  have  recalled  instantly  such 
a  rash  proffer  and  begged  for  the  grace  of  being 
allowed  to  live  out  all  the  years  of  his  allotted 
time. 

At  this  time  there  Uved  an  old  woman  in  one 
of  the  dingy  ramshackle  houses  along  the  Tiber. 
She  was  one  of  those  who  have  the  kind  of  spirit 
that  thanks  God  every  day  for  life.  Every 
morning  she  used  to  sit  at  the  market-place  and 
sell  garden  truck.  And  this  was  an  occupation 
that  was  very  congenial  to  her.  She  thought 
nothing  could  be  livelier  than  a  market  of  a 
morning.  All  tongues  were  wagging  —  all  were 
harking  their  commodities,  and  buyers  crowded 
in  front  of  the  stalls,  selected  and  bargained, 


238    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

and  many  a  good  sally  passed  between  buyer  and 
seller.  Sometimes  the  old  woman  was  success- 
ful in  making  a  good  deal  and  in  selling  out  her 
entire  stock;  but  even  if  she  could  n't  sell  so 
much  as  a  radish,  she  loved  to  be  standing 
amongst  flowers  and  green  things  in  the  fresh 
morning  air. 

In  the  evening  she  had  another  and  an  even 
greater  pleasure.  Then  her  son  came  home  and 
visited  with  her.  He  was  a  priest,  but  he  had 
been  assigned  to  a  little  church  in  one  of  the 
humble  quarters.  The  poor  priests  who  served 
there  had  not  much  to  live  upon,  and  the  mother 
feared  that  her  son  was  starving.  But  from  this, 
also,  she  derived  much  pleasure,  for  it  gave  her 
the  opportunity  of  stuffing  him  full  of  deli- 
cacies when  he  came  to  see  her.  He  struggled 
against  it,  as  he  was  destined  for  a  life  of  self- 
denial  and  strict  discipline,  but  his  mother  be- 
came so  distressed  when  he  said  no  that  he  al- 
ways had  to  give  in.  While  he  was  eating  she 
trotted  around  in  the  room  and  chattered  about 
all  that  she  had  seen  in  the  morning  during 
market  hours.  These  were  all  very  worldly 
matters,  and  it  would  occur  to  her  sometimes 
that  her  son  might  be  offended.  Then  she  would 
break  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  begin 
to  talk  of  spiritual  and  solemn  things^  but  the 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    239 

priest  could  n't  help  laughing.  "No,  no,  mother 
Concenza!"  he  said,  "continue  in  your  usual 
way.  The  saints  know  you  already,  and  they 
know  what  you  are  up  to." 

Then  she,  too,  laughed  and  said:  "You  are 
quite  right.  It  does  n't  pay  to  pretend  before 
the  good  Lord." 

When  the  Pope  was  taken  ill,  Signora  Con- 
cenza must  also  have  a  share  in  the  general 
grief.  Of  her  own  accord  it  certainly  never 
would  have  occurred  to  her  to  feel  troubled 
about  his  passing.  But  when  her  son  came  home 
to  her,  she  could  neither  persuade  him  to  taste 
of  a  morsel  of  food  nor  to  give  her  a  smile, 
although  she  was  simply  bubbling  over  with 
stories  and  interpolations.  Naturally  she  be- 
came alarmed  and  asked  what  was  wrong  with 
him.  "The  Holy  Father  is  ill,"  answered  the 
son. 

At  first  she  could  scarcely  believe  that  this  was 
the  cause  of  his  downheartedness.  Of  course  it 
was  a  sorrow;  but  she  knew,  to  be  sure,  that  if 
a  Pope  died,  immediately  there  would  come 
another.  She  reminded  her  son  of  the  fact  that 
they  had  also  mourned  the  good  Pio  Nono. 
And,  you  see,  the  one  who  succeeded  him  was  a 
still  greater  Pope.  Surely  the  Cardinals  would 
choose  for  them  a  ruler  who  was  just  as  holy  and 
wise  as  this  one. 


240    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

The  priest  then  began  telling  her  about  the 
Pope.  He  did  n't  bother  to  initiate  her  into  his 
system  of  government,  but  he  told  her  little 
stories  of  his  childhood  and  young  manhood. 
And  from  the  days  of  his  prelacy  there  were 
also  things  to  relate  —  as,  for  instance,  how  he 
had  at  one  time  hunted  down  robbers  in  southern 
Italy,  how  he  had  made  himself  beloved  by  the 
poor  and  needy  during  the  years  when  he  was  a 
bishop  in  Perugia. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  cried  out: 
"Ah,  if  he  were  not  so  old!  If  he  might  only  be 
allowed  to  live  many  more  years,  since  he  is 
such  a  great  and  holy  man!" 

"Ahj  if  only  he  were  not  so  old!"  sighed  the 
son. 

But  Signora  Concenza  had  already  brushed 
the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "You  really  must  bear 
this  calmly,"  said  she.  "Remember  that  his 
years  of  life  are  simply  run  out.  It  is  impossible 
to  prevent  death  from  seizing  him." 

The  priest  was  a  dreamer.  He  loved  the 
Church  and  had  dreamed  that  the  great  Pope 
would  lead  her  on  to  important  and  decisive 
victories.  "I  would  give  my  life  if  I  could  pur- 
chase new  life  for  him!"   said  he. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  cried  his  mother. 
"Do  you  really  love  him  so  much?    But,  in  any 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD     241 

case,  you  must  not  express  such  dangerous 
wishes.  Instead,  you  should  think  of  living  a 
good  long  time.  Who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen? Why  could  n't  you,  in  your  turn,  become 
Pope  ?  " 

A  night  and  a  day  passed  without  any  im- 
provement in  the  Pope's  condition.  When 
Signora  Concenza  met  her  son  the  following  day, 
he  looked  completely  undone.  She  understood 
that  he  had  passed  the  whole  day  in  prayer  and 
fasting,  and  she  began  to  feel  deeply  grieved. 
*'I  verily  believe  that  you  mean  to  kill  yourself 
for  the  sake  of  that  sick  old  man!  "  said  she. 

The  son  was  hurt  by  again  finding  her  with- 
out sympathy,  and  tried  to  persuade  her  to 
sympathize  a  little  with  his  grief.  ''You,  truly, 
more  than  any  one  else,  ought  to  wish  that  the 
Pope  might  live,"  he  said.  "  If  he  may  continue 
to  rule,  he  will  name  my  parish  priest  for  bishop 
before  the  year  shall  have  passed  and,  in  that 
event,  my  fortune  is  made.  He  will  then  give 
me  a  good  place  in  a  cathedral.  You  shall  not 
see  me  going  about  any  more  in  a  worn-out 
cassock.  I  shall  have  plenty  of  money,  and  I 
shall  be  able  to  help  you  and  all  your  poor 
neighbors." 

"But  if  the  Pope  dies?"  asked  Signora  Con- 
cenza breathlessly. 

16 


242    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

"If  the  Pope  dies,  then  no  one  can  know  — 
If  my  parish  priest  does  n't  happen  to  be  in 
favor  with  his  successor,  we  must  both  remain 
where  we  now  are  for  many  years  to  come." 

Signora  Concenza  came  close  to  her  son  and 
regarded  him  anxiously.  She  looked  at  his  brow, 
which  was  covered  with  wrinkles,  and  at  his 
hair  that  was  just  turning  gray.  He  looked 
tired  and  worn.  It  was  actually  imperative 
that  he  should  have  that  place  at  the  cathedral 
right  away.  "To-night  I  shall  go  to  church  and 
pray  for  the  Pope,"  thought  she.  "It  won't  do 
for  him  to  die." 

After  supper  she  bravely  conquered  her 
fatigue  and  went  out  on  the  streets.  Great 
crowds  of  people  thronged  there.  Many  were 
only  curious  and  had  gone  out  because  they 
wished  to  catch  the  news  of  the  death  at  first 
hand;  but  many  were  really  distressed  and 
wandered  from  church  to  church  to  pray. 

As  soon  as  Signora  Concenza  had  come  out  on 
the  street,  she  met  one  of  her  daughters,  who 
was  married  to  a  lithographer.  "Oh,  mother, 
but  you  do  right  to  come  out  and  pray  for  him!" 
exclaimed  the  daughter.  "You  can't  imagine 
what  a  misfortune  it  would  be  if  he  were  to  die! 
My  Fabiano  was  ready  to  take  his  own  life  when 
he  learned  that  the  Pope  was  ill." 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    243 

She  related  how  her  husband,  the  lithographer, 
had  but  just  struck  off  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  the  Pope's  pictures.  Now,  if  the  Pope  were 
to  die,  he  would  n't  be  able  to  sell  half  of  them  — 
no,  not  even  a  quarter  of  them.  He  would  be 
ruined.    Their  entire  fortune  was  at  stake. 

She  rushed  on  to  gather  some  fresh  news, 
wherewith  she  might  comfort  her  poor  husband, 
who  did  not  dare  venture  out,  but  sat  at  home 
and  brooded  over  his  misfortune.  Her  mother 
stood  still  on  the  street,  mumbling  to  herself: 
"It  won't  do  for  him  to  die.  It  will  never  do 
for  him  to  die!" 

She  walked  into  the  fjrst  church  she  came  to. 
There  she  fell  upon  her  knees  and  prayed  for  the 
life  of  the  Pope. 

As  she  arose  to  leave,  she  happened  to  lift  her 
eyes  to  a  little  votive  tablet  which  hung  on  the 
wall  just  above  her  head.  The  tablet  was  a 
representation  of  Death  raising  a  terrifying  two- 
edged  sword  to  mow  down  a  young  girl,  while 
her  mother,  who  had  cast  herself  in  his  path,  tries 
in  vain  to  receive  the  blow  in  place  of  her  child. 

She  stood  long  before  the  picture,  musing. 
''Signor  Death  is  a  careful  arithmetician,"  she 
remarked.  "One  has  never  heard  of  his  agree- 
ing to  exchange  an  old  person  for  a  young  one." 

She  remembered  her  son's  words  that  he  would 


244    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

be  willing  to  die  in  the  Pope's  stead,  and  a  shud- 
der passed  through  her  whole  body.  ''Think,  if 
Death  were  to  take  him  at  his  word!" 

"No,  no,  Signor  Death!"  she  whispered. 
"You  mustn't  believe  him.  You  must  under- 
stand that  he  did  n't  mean  what  he  said.  He 
wants  to  live.  He  does  n't  want  to  leave  his  old 
mother,  who  loves  him." 

For  the  first  time  the  thought  struck  her  that 
if  any  one  should  sacrifice  himself  for  the  Pope,  it 
were  better  that  she  did  it  —  she,  who  was  al- 
ready old  and  had  lived  her  life. 

When  she  left  the  church,  she  happened  into 
the  company  of  some  nuns  of  the  saintliest  and 
most  devout  appearance,  who  lived  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  the  country.  They  had  travelled 
down  to  Rome  to  obtain  a  little  help  from  the 
Pope's  treasury.  "We  are  actually  in  the  most 
dire  need  of  aid,"  they  told  old  Concenza. 
"Only  think!  our  convent  was  so  old  and  di- 
lapidated that  it  blew  down  during  the  severe 
storm  of  last  winter.  We  may  not  now  present 
our  case  to  him.  If  he  should  die,  we  must  re- 
turn home  with  an  unaccomplished  mission. 
Who  can  know  if  his  successor  will  be  the  sort 
of  man  who  will  trouble  himself  to  succor  poor 
nuns?" 

It  seemed  as  if  all  the  people  were  thinking 


WnV  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    245 

the  same  thoughts.  It  was  very  easy  to  get 
into  converse  with  any  one.  Each  and  all  whom 
Signora  Concenza  approached  let  her  know 
that  the  Pope's  death  would  be  for  them  a 
terrible  misfortune. 

The  old  woman  repeated  again  and  again  to 
herself:  "My  son  is  right.  It  will  never  do  for 
the  Pope  to  die." 

A  nurse  was  standing  among  a  group  of  people, 
talking  in  a  loud  voice.  She  was  so  affected  that 
the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks.  She  re- 
lated how  five  years  ago  she  had  been  ordered 
away,  to  serve  at  a  leper  hospital  on  an  island  at 
the  other  end  of  the  globe.  Naturally,  she  had 
to  obey  orders;  but  she  did  so  against  her  wishes. 
She  had  felt  a  horrible  dread  of  this  mission. 
Before  she  left  Rome,  she  was  received  by  the 
Pope,  who  had  given  her  a  special  blessing  and 
had  also  promised  her  that  if  she  came  back 
alive  she  should  have  another  audience  with  him. 
And  it  was  upon  this  that  she  had  lived  during 
the  five  years  she  had  been  away  —  only  on  the 
hope  that  she  might  see  the  Holy  Father  once 
more  in  this  life !  This  had  helped  her  to  go 
through  all  the  horrors.  And  now,  when  she  had 
got  home  at  last,  she  was  met  by  the  news  that 
he  lay  upon  his  death-bed!  She  could  not  even 
see  him! 


246    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

She  was  in  extreme  despair,  and  old  Concenza 
was  deeply  moved.  "It  would  really  be  much 
too  great  a  sorrow  for  every  one  if  the  Pope  were 
to  die,"  thought  she,  as  she  wandered  farther  up 
the  street.  ""^ 

When  she  observed  that  many  of  the  passers- 
by  looked  perfectly  exhausted  from  weeping, 
she  thought  with  a  sense  of  relief:  "What  a  joy 
it  would  be  to  see  everybody's  happiness  if  the 
Pope  should  recover!"  And  she,  like  many 
others  who  have  a  buoyant  disposition,  was  ap- 
parently no  more  afraid  of  dying  than  of  living; 
so  she  said  to  herself:  "If  I  only  knew  how  it 
could  be  done,  I  would  gladly  give  the  Holy 
Father  the  years  that  are  left  to  me  of  Ufe." 

She  said  this  somewhat  in  jest,  but  back  of 
the  words  there  was  also  seriousness.  She  truly 
wished  that  she  might  realize  something  in  that 
way.  "An  old  woman  could  not  wish  for  a 
more  beautiful  death,"  thought  she.  "I  would 
be  helping  both  my  son  and  my  daughter,  and, 
besides,  I  should  make  great  masses  of  people 
happy." 

Just  as  this  thought  stirred  within  her,  she 
raised  the  patched  curtain  which  hung  before 
the  entrance  of  a  gloomy  little  church.  It  was 
one  of  the  very  old  churches  —  one  of  those 
which  appear  to  be  gradually  sinking  into  the 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    247 

earth  because  the  city's  foundation  has,  in  the 
intervening  years,  raised  itself  several  metres  all 
around  them.  This  church  in  its  interior  had 
preserved  somewhat  of  its  ancient  gloom,  which 
must  have  come  down  through  the  dark  ages 
during  which  it  had  sprung  into  existence.  In- 
voluntarily a  shudder  passed  through  one  as  one 
stepped  in  under  its  low  arches,  which  rested 
upon  uncommonly  thick  pillars,  and  saw  the 
crudely  painted  saints'  pictures  that  gUmpsed 
down  at  one  from  walls  and  altars. 

When  Signora  Concenza  came  into  this  old 
church,  which  was  thronged  with  worshippers, 
she  was  seized  with  a  mysterious  awe  and  rev- 
erence. She  felt  that  in  this  sanctuary  there 
verily  lived  a  Deity.  Beneath  the  massive 
arches  hovered  something  infinitely  mighty  and 
mysterious,  something  which  inspired  such  a 
sense  of  annihilating  superiority  that  she  felt 
nervous  about  remaining  in  there.  "Ah,  this  is 
no  church  where  one  goes  to  hear  a  mass  or  to 
confessional,"  remarked  Signora  Concenza  to 
herself.  ''Here  one  comes  when  one  is  in  great 
trouble,  when  one  can  be  helped  in  no  other 
way  than  through  a  miracle." 

She  lingered  down  by  the  door  and  breathed 
in  this  strange  air  of  mystery  and  gloom.  "I 
don't  even  know  to  whom  this  old  church  is 


248    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

dedicated;  but  I  feel  that  here  there  must  be 
some  one  who  is  able  to  grant  us  that  which  we 
pray  for." 

She  sank  down  among  the  kneeling  people, 
who  were  so  many  that  they  covered  the  floor 
from  the  altar  to  the  door.  All  the  while  that 
she  herself  was  praying,  she  heard  around  her 
sighs  and  sobs.  All  this  grief  went  to  her  heart 
and  filled  it  with  greater  and  greater  compassion. 
"Oh,  my  God,  let  me  do  something  to  save  the 
old  man!"  she  prayed.  "In  the  first  place,  I 
ought  to  help  my  children,  and  then  all  the  other 
people." 

Every  once  in  a  while  a  thin  little  monk  stole 
in  among  the  praying  and  whispered  something 
in  their  ears.  The  one  to  whom  he  was  speaking 
instantly  stood  up  and  followed  him  into  the 
sacristy. 

Signora  Concenza  soon  apprehended  what 
there  was  in  question.  "They  are  of  the  kind 
who  give  pledges  for  the  Pope's  recovery," 
thought  she. 

The  next  time  the  little  monk  made  his  rounds, 
she  rose  up  and  went  with  him.  It  was  a  per- 
fectly involuntary  action.  She  fancied  that  she 
was  being  impelled  to  do  this  by  the  power  which 
ruled  in  the  old  church. 

As  soon  as  she  came  into  the  sacristy,  which 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD     249 

was  even  more  archaic  and  more  mystical  than 
the  church  itself,  she  regretted  it.  "What  have 
I  to  do  in  here?"  she  asked  herself.  "What 
have  I  to  give  away?  I  own  nothing  but  a 
couple  of  cartloads  of  garden  truck.  I  certainly 
can't  present  the  saints  with  a  few  baskets  of 
artichokes!" 

At  one  side  of  the  room  there  was  a  long  table 
at  which  a  priest  stood  recording  in  a  register  all 
that  was  pledged  to  the  saints.  Concenza  heard 
how  one  promised  to  present  the  old  church  with 
a  sum  of  money,  while  a  second  promised  to  give 
his  gold  watch,  and  a  third  her  pearl  earrings. 

Concenza  stood  all  the  while  down  by  the 
door.  Her  last  poor  copper  had  been  spent  to 
procure  a  few  deUcacies  for  her  son.  She  saw  a 
number  of  persons  who  appeared  to  be  no  richer 
than  herself  buying  wax  candles  and  silver  hearts. 
She  turned  her  skirt  pocket  inside  out,  but  she 
could  not  afford  even  that  much. 

She  stood  and  waited  so  long  that  finally  she 
was  the  only  stranger  in  the  sacristy.  The 
priests  walking  about  in  there  looked  at  her  a 
little  astonished.  Then  she  took  a  step  or  two 
forward.  She  seemed  at  the  start  uncertain  and 
embarrassed,  but  after  the  first  move  she 
walked  Ughtly  and  briskly  up  to  the  table. 
"Your    Reverence!"     she   said    to    the   priest, 


250    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

"write  that  Concenza  Zamponi,  who  was  sixty 
last  year,  on  Saint  John  the  Baptist's  Day,  gives 
all  her  remaining  years  to  the  Pope,  that  the 
thread  of  his  Ufe  may  be  lengthened!" 

The  priest  had  already  begun  writing.  He 
was  probably  very  tired  after  having  worked  at 
this  register  the  whole  night,  and  thought  no 
more  about  the  sort  of  things  he  was  recording. 
But  now  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  a 
word  and  looked  quizzically  at  Signora  Con- 
cenza.   She  met  his  glance  very  calmly. 

"I  am  strong  and  well,  your  Reverence,"  said 
she.  "I  should  probably  have  lived  out  my 
allotted  seventy  years.  It  is  at  least  ten  years 
that  I  am  giving  to  the  Holy  Father." 

The  priest  marked  her  zeal  and  reverence 
and  offered  no  objections.  "She  is  a  poor 
woman,"  thought  he.  "She  has  nothing  else 
to  give." 

"It  is  written,  my  daughter,"  he  said. 

When  old  Concenza  came  out  from  the  church, 
it  was  so  late  that  the  commotion  had  ceased 
and  the  streets  were  absolutely  deserted.  She 
found  herself  in  a  remote  part  of  the  city,  where 
the  gas  lamps  were  so  far  apart  that  they  dis- 
pelled only  a  very  little  of  the  darkness.  All  the 
same,  she  walked  on  briskly.  She  felt  very 
solemn  within  and  was  certain  that  she  had  done 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    251 

something  which  would  make  many  people 
happy. 

As  she  walked  up  the  street,  she  suddenly  got 
the  impression  that  a  live  being  circled  above 
her  head.  In  the  darkness,  between  the  tall 
houses,  she  thought  she  could  distinguish  a  pair 
of  large  wings,  and  she  even  fancied  she  heard 
the  sound  of  their  beating. 

"What  is  this?"  said  she.  "Surely  it  can't 
be  a  bird!  It  is  much  too  big  for  that."  All  at 
once  she  thought  she  saw  a  face  which  was  so 
white  that  it  illuminated  the  darkness.  Then 
an  unspeakable  terror  seized  her.  "It  is  the 
Angel  of  Death  hovering  over  me,"  thought  she. 
"Ah,  what  have  I  done?  I  have  placed  myself 
in  the  dreaded  one's  power!" 

She  started  to  run,  but  she  could  hear  the 
rustle  of  the  strong  wings  and  was  convinced 
that  Death  was  pursuing  her. 

She  fled  with  breathless  haste  through  several 
streets,  thinking  all  the  while  that  Death  was 
coming  nearer  and  nearer  her.  She  already 
felt  his  wings  brushing  against  her  shoulder. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  whizzing  in  the  air,  and 
something  heavy  and  sharp  struck  her  head. 
Death's  two-edged  sword  had  reached  her. 
She  sank  to  her  knees.  She  knew  that  she  must 
lose  her  life. 


252    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

A  few  hours  later,  old  Concenza  was  found  on 
the  street  by  two  workmen.  She  lay  there  un- 
conscious, stricken  with  apoplexy.  The  poor 
woman  was  immediately  removed  to  a  hospital, 
where  they  succeeded  in  bringing  her  to,  but  it 
was  apparent  that  she  could  not  live  very  long. 

There  was  time,  at  all  events,  to  send  for  her 
children.  When,  in  a  state  of  despair,  they 
reached  her  sick-bed,  they  foimd  her  very  calm 
and  happy.  She  could  n't  speak  many  words 
to  them,  but  she  lay  and  caressed  their  hands. 
"You  must  be  happy,"  said  she,  "happy, 
happy!"  Evidently  she  did  not  like  their  cry- 
ing. She  also  bade  the  nurses  smile  and  show 
their  joy.  "Cheerful  and  happy,"  said  she; 
"now  you  must  be  cheerful  and  happy!"  She 
lay  there  with  hunger  in  her  eyes,  waiting  to  see 
a  little  joy  in  their  faces. 

She  grew  more  and  more  impatient  with  her 
children's  tears  and  with  the  solemn  faces  of 
the  nurses.  She  began  to  utter  things  which  no 
one  could  comprehend.  She  said  that  in  case 
they  were  not  glad  she  might  just  as  well  have 
lived.  Those  who  heard  her  thought  she  was 
raving. 

Suddenly  the  doors  opened,  and  a  young 
physician  came  into  the  sick-room.  He  was 
waving  a  newspaper  and  calling  in  a  loud  voice: 


WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD    253 

"The  Pope  is  better.    He  will  live.    A  change 
has  taken  place  in  the  night." 

The  nurses  silenced  him,  so  that  he  should  n't 
disturb  the  dying  woman,  but  Signora  Conccnza 
had  already  heard  him. 

She  had  also  marked  a  spark  of  joy  —  a 
gleam  of  happiness  which  could  not  be  concealed 
—  pass  through  those  who  stood  around  her  bed. 

There  she  lay  looking  about  her,  with  some- 
thing far-seeing  in  her  gaze.  It  was  as  though 
she  were  looking  out  over  Rome,  where  the  people 
were  now  thronging  up  and  down  the  streets  and 
greeting  one  another  with  the  joyful  news. 

She  raised  her  head  as  high  as  she  could  and 
said:  "So  am  I  —  I  am  very  happy.  God  has 
allowed  me  to  die  that  he  may  live.  I  don't 
mind  dying  when  I  have  made  so  many  people 
happy." 

She  lay  down  again,  and  a  few  seconds  later 
she  was  dead. 

But  they  say  in  Rome  that,  after  his  recovery, 
the  Holy  Father  entertained  himself  one  day  by 
looking  through  the  church  records  of  pious 
pledges  which  had  been  offered  for  his  recovery. 

Smilingly  he  read  the  long  lists  of  little  gifts 
until  he  came  to  the  record  where  Concenza 
Zamponi  had  presented  him  with  her  remaining 


254    WHY  THE  POPE  LIVED  TO  BE  SO  OLD 

years  of  life.    Instantly  he  became  very  serious 
and  thoughtful. 

He  made  inquiries  about  Concenza  Zamponi 
and  learned  that  she  had  died  on  the  night  of  his 
recovery.  He  then  bade  them  call  to  him  her  son, 
Dominico,  and  questioned  him  minutely  as  to 
her  last  moments. 

"My  son,"  said  the  Pope  to  him  when  he  had 
spoken,  "your  mother  has  not  saved  my  life,  as 
she  believed  in  her  last  hour;  but  I  am  deeply 
moved  by  her  love  and  self-sacrifice." 

He  let  Dominico  kiss  his  hand,  whereupon  he 
dismissed  him. 

But  the  Romans  assure  you  that,  although 
the  Pope  would  not  admit  that  his  span  of  years 
had  been  lengthened  by  the  poor  woman's  gift, 
he  was  nevertheless  certain  of  it.  "Why  else 
should  Father  Zamponi  have  had  such  a  me- 
teoric career?"  asked  the  Romans.  "He  is 
already  a  bishop  and  it  is  whispered  that  he  will 
soon  be  a  Cardinal." 

And  in  Rome  they  never  feared  after  that  that 
the  Pope  would  die,  not  even  when  he  was  mor- 
tally ill.  They  were  prepared  to  have  him  Hve 
longer  than  other  people.  His  Hfe  had  of  course 
been  lengthened  by  all  the  years  that  poor 
Concenza  had  given  him. 


The  Story  of  a  Story 


The   Story  of  a   Story 

Once  there  was  a  story  that  wanted  to  be  told 
and  sent  out  in  the  world.  This  was  very  natural, 
inasmuch  as  it  knew  that  it  was  already  as  good 
as  finished.  Many,  through  remarkable  deeds 
and  strange  events,  had  helped  create  it;  others 
had  added  their  straws  in  it  by  again  and  again 
relating  these  things.  What  it  lacked  was  merely 
a  matter  of  being  joined  together,  so  that  it  could 
travel  comfortably  through  the  country.  As 
yet  it  was  only  a  confused  jumble  of  stories  —  a 
big,  formless  cloud  of  adventures  rushing  hither 
and  thither  like  a  swarm  of  stray  bees  on  a  sum- 
mer's day,  not  knowing  where  they  will  find 
some  one  who  can  gather  them  into  a  hive. 

The  story  that  wanted  to  be  told  had  sprung 
up  in  Vermland,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  it 
circled  over  many  mills  and  manors,  over  many 
parsonages  and  many  homes  of  military  ofiicers, 
in  the  beautiful  province,  peering  through  the 
windows  and  begging  to  be  cared  for.  But  it  was 
forced  to  make  many  futile  attempts,  for  every- 
where it  was  turned  away.     Anything  else  was 

17 


258  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

hardly  to  be  expected.  People  had  many  things 
of  much  more  importance  to  think  of. 

Finally  the  story  came  to  an  old  place  called 
Marbacka.  It  was  a  little  homestead,  with  low 
buildings  overshadowed  by  giant  trees.  At  one 
time  it  had  been  a  parsonage,  and  it  was  as  if 
this  had  set  a  certain  stamp  upon  the  place 
which  it  could  not  lose.  They  seemed  to  have  a 
greater  love  for  books  and  reading  there  than 
elsewhere,  and  a  certain  air  of  restfulness  and 
peace  always  pervaded  it.  There  rushing  with 
duties  and  bickering  with  servants  were  never 
met  with,  nor  was  hatred  or  dissension  given 
house  room,  either.  One  who  happened  to  be  a 
guest  there  was  not  allowed  to  take  life  too 
seriously,  but  had  to  feel  that  his  first  duty  was  to 
be  light-hearted  and  believe  that  for  one  and  all 
who  lived  on  this  estate  our  Lord  managed  every- 
thing for  the  best. 

As  I  think  of  the  matter  now,  I  apprehend 
that  the  story  of  which  I  am  speaking  must  have 
lingered  thereabouts  a  great  many  years  during 
its  vain  longing  to  be  told.  It  seems  to  me  as 
though  it  must  have  enwrapped  the  place,  as 
a  mist  shrouds  a  mountain  summit,  now  and 
then  letting  one  of  the  adventures  of  which  it 
consisted  rain  down  upon  it. 

They  came  in  the  form  of  strange  ghost  stories 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  259 

about  the  superintendent  of  the  foundries,  who 
always  had  black  bulls  hitched  to  his  wagon 
when  he  drove  home  at  night  from  a  revel. 
And  in  his  home  the  Evil  One  himself  used  to 
sit  in  the  rocker  and  rock  while  the  wife  sat  at 
the  piano  and  played.  They  came  as  true  stories 
from  the  neighboring  homestead,  where  crows 
had  persecuted  the  mistress  until  she  did  n't  dare 
venture  outside  the  door;  from  the  Captain's 
house,  where  they  were  so  poor  that  everything 
had  to  be  borrowed;  from  the  little  cottage  down 
by  the  church,  where  there  Hved  a  lot  of  young 
and  old  girls  who  had  all  fallen  in  love  with  the 
handsome  organ  builder. 

Sometimes  the  dear  adventures  came  to  the 
homestead  in  an  even  more  tangible  form.  Aged 
and  poverty-stricken  army  officers  would  drive 
up  to  the  doorstep  behind  rickety  old  horses  and 
in  rickety  carryalls.  They  would  stop  and  visit 
for  weeks,  and  in  the  evenings,  when  the  toddy 
had  put  courage  into  them,  they  would  talk  of  the 
time  when  they  had  danced  in  stockingless 
shoes,  so  that  their  feet  would  look  small,  of 
how  they  had  curled  their  hair  and  dyed  their 
mustaches.  One  of  them  told  how  he  had  tried 
to  take  a  pretty  young  girl  back  to  her  sweetheart 
and  how  he  had  been  hunted  by  wolves  on  the 
way;  another  had  been  at  the  Christmas  feast 


26o  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

where  an  angered  guest  had  flung  all  the  hazel- 
hens  at  the  wall  because  some  one  had  made  him 
believe  they  were  crows;  a  third  had  seen  the 
old  gentleman  who  used  to  sit  at  a  plain  board 
table  and  play  Beethoven.  ^"^ 

But  the  story  could  reveal  its  presence  in  still 
another  way.  In  the  attic  hung  the  portrait  of 
a  lady  with  powdered  hair,  and  when  any  one 
walked  past  it  he  was  reminded  that  it  was  a 
portrait  of  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Count, 
who  had  loved  her  brother's  young  tutor,  and 
had  called  to  see  him  once  when  she  was  an  old 
gray-haired  lady  and  he  an  old  married  man. 
In  the  lumber  room  were  heaped  up  bundles 
of  documents  containing  deeds  of  purchase  and 
leases  signed  by  the  great  lady,  who  once  ruled 
over  seven  foundries  which  had  been  willed  to 
her  by  her  lover.  If  one  entered  the  church, 
one  saw  in  a  dusty  little  cabinet  under  the  pul- 
pit the  chest  filled  with  infidel  manuscripts, 
which  was  not  to  be  opened  until  the  beginning 
of  the  new  century.  And  not  very  far  from  the 
church  is  the  river,  at  the  bottom  of  which  rests 
a  pile  of  sacred  images  that  were  not  allowed  to 
remain  in  the  pulpit  and  chancel  they  once  had 
ornamented. 

It  must  have  been  because  so  many  legends 
and  traditions  hovered  around  the  farm  that  one 


rilE  STORY  Oh    A   STORY  261 

of  the  children  growing  up  there  longed  to  be- 
come a  narrator.  It  was  not  one  of  the  boys. 
They  were  not  at  home  very  much,  for  they 
were  away  at  their  schools  almost  the  whole 
year;  so  the  story  did  not  get  much  of  a  hold 
upon  them.  But  it  was  one  of  the  girls  —  one 
who  was  delicate  and  could  not  romp  and  play 
like  other  children,  but  found  her  greatest  en- 
joyment in  reading  and  hearing  stories  about 
all  the  great  and  wonderful  things  which  had 
happened  in  the  world. 

However,  at  the  start  it  was  not  the  girl's 
intention  to  write  about  the  stories  and  legends 
surrounding  her.  She  had  n't  the  remotest  idea 
that  a  book  could  be  made  of  these  adventures, 
which  she  had  so  often  heard  related  that  to  her 
they  seemed  the  most  commonplace  things  in 
the  world.  When  she  tried  to  write,  she  chose 
material  from  her  books,  and  with  fresh  courage 
she  strung  together  stories  of  the  Sultans  in 
"Thousand  and  One  Nights,"  Walter  Scott's 
heroes,  and  Snorre  Sturleson's  "Kings  of 
Romance." 

Surely  it  is  needless  to  state  that  what  she 
wrote  was  the  least  original  and  the  crudest 
that  has  ever  been  put  upon  paper.  But  this 
very  naturally  she  herself  did  not  see.  She  went 
about  at  home  on  the  quiet  farm,  filling  every 


262  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

scrap  of  paper  she  could  lay  her  hands  on  with 
verse  and  prose,  with  plays  and  romances. 
When  she  wasn't  writing,  she  sat  and  waited 
for  success.  And  success  was  to  consist  in  this: 
Some  stranger  who  was  very  learned  and  influ- 
ential, through  some  rare  freak  of  fortune,  was 
to  come  and  discover  what  she  had  written  and 
find  it  worth  printing.  After  that,  all  the  rest 
would  come  of  itself. 

Meanwhile  nothing  of  the  sort  happened. 
And  when  the  girl  had  passed  her  twentieth 
year,  she  began  to  grow  impatient.  She  won- 
dered why  success  did  not  come  her  way.  Per- 
haps she  lacked  knowledge.  She  probably 
needed  to  see  a  httle  more  of  the  world  than  the 
homestead  in  Vermland.  And  seeing  that  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  she  could  earn  her 
livelihood  as  an  author,  it  was  necessary  for  her 
to  learn  something  —  find  some  work  in  life  — 
that  she  might  have  bread  while  she  waited  for 
herself.  Or  maybe  it  was  simply  this  —  that 
the  story  had  lost  patience  with  her.  Perhaps  it 
thought  thus:  "Since  this  blind  person  does  not 
see  that  which  lies  nearest  her  eyes,  let  her  be 
forced  to  go  away.  Let  her  tramp  upon  gray 
stone  streets;  let  her  live  in  cramped  city  rooms 
with  no  other  outlook  than  gray  stone  walls; 
let  her  five  among  people  who  hide  everything 


THE  STORY   OF   A    STORY  263 

that  is  unusual  in  them  and  who  appear  to  be 
all  alike.  It  may  perchance  teach  her  to  see 
that  which  is  waiting  outside  the  gate  of  her 
home  —  all  that  lives  and  moves  between  the 
stretch  of  blue  hills  which  she  has  every  day 
before  her  eyes." 

And  so,  one  autumn,  when  she  was  two-and- 
twenty,  she  travelled  up  to  Stockholm  to  begin 
preparing  herself  for  the  vocation  of  teacher. 

The  girl  soon  became  absorbed  in  her  work. 
She  wrote  no  more,  but  went  in  for  studies  and 
lectures.  It  actually  looked  as  though  the  story 
would  lose  her  altogether. 

Then  something  extraordinary  happened. 
This  same  autumn,  after  she  had  been  living  a 
couple  of  months  amidst  gray  streets  and  house 
walls,  she  was  walking  one  day  up  Malmskillnad 
Street  with  a  bundle  of  books  under  her  arm. 
She  had  just  come  from  a  lecture  on  the  history 
of  literature.  The  lecture  must  have  been  about 
Bellman  and  Runeberg,  because  she  was  thinking 
of  them  and  of  the  characters  that  live  in  their 
verses.  She  said  to  herself  that  Runeberg's 
jolly  warriors  and  Bellman's  happy-go-lucky 
roisterers  were  the  very  best  material  a  writer 
could  have  to  work  with.  And  suddenly  this 
thought  flashed  upon  her:  Vermland,  the  world 
in  which  you  have  been  living,  is  not  less  re- 


264  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

markable  than  that  of  Fredman  or  Fanrik  Stal. 
If  you  can  only  learn  how  to  handle  it,  you  will 
find  that  your  material  is  quite  as  good  as  theirs. 

This  is  how  it  happened  that  she  caught  her 
first  glimpse  of  the  story.  And  the  instant  she 
saw  it,  the  ground  under  her  seemed  to  sway. 
The  whole  long  Malmskillnad  Street  from  Hamn 
Street  Hill  to  the  fire-house  rose  toward  the  skies 
and  sank  again  —  rose  and  sank.  She  stood 
still  a  long  while,  until  the  street  had  settled 
itself.  She  gazed  with  astonishment  at  the 
passers-by,  who  walked  calmly  along,  apparently 
oblivious  to  the  miracle  that  had  taken  place. 

At  that  moment  the  girl  determined  that  she 
would  write  the  story  of  Vermland's  Cavaliers, 
and  never  for  an  instant  did  she  relinquish  the 
thought  of  it;  but  many  and  long  years  elapsed 
before  the  determination  was  carried  out. 

In  the  first  place  she  had  entered  upon  a  new 
field  of  labor,  and  she  lacked  the  time  needful 
for  the  carrying  out  of  a  great  literary  work. 
In  the  second  place  she  had  failed  utterly  in  her 
first  attempts  to  write  the  story. 

During  these  years  many  things  were  con- 
stantly happening  which  helped  mould  it.  One 
morning,  on  a  school  holiday,  she  was  sitting 
at  the  breakfast-table  with  her  father,  and  the 
two  of  them  talked  of  old  times.    Then  he  began 


THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY  265 

telling  of  an  acquaintance  of  his  youth,  whom 
he  described  as  the  most  fascinating  of  men. 
This  man  brought  joy  and  cheer  with  him  wher- 
ever he  went.  He  could  sing ;  he  composed  music ; 
he  improvised  verse.  If  he  struck  up  a  dance, 
it  was  not  alone  the  young  folk  who  danced, 
but  old  men  and  old  women,  high  and  low.  If 
he  made  a  speech,  one  had  to  laugh  or  cry, 
whichever  he  wished.  If  he  drank  himself  full, 
he  could  play  and  talk  better  than  when  he  was 
sober,  and  when  he  fell  in  love  with  a  woman,  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  resist  him.  If  he  did 
foolish  things,  one  forgave  him;  if  he  was  sad  at 
times,  one  wanted  to  do  anything  and  every- 
thing to  see  him  glad  again.  But  any  great 
success  in  life  he  had  never  had,  despite  his 
wealth  of  talents.  He  had  lived  mostly  at  the 
foundries  in  Vermland  as  private  tutor.  Finally 
he  was  ordained  as  a  minister.  This  was  the 
highest  that  he  had  attained. 

After  this  conversation  she  could  see  the  hero 
of  her  story  better  than  heretofore,  and  with 
this  a  little  life  and  action  came  into  it.  One 
fine  day  a  name  was  given  to  the  hero  and  he  was 
called  Gosta  Berling.  Whence  he  got  the  name 
she  never  knew.  It  was  as  if  he  had  named 
himself. 

Another  time,  she  came  home  to  spend  the 


266  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

Christmas  holidays.  One  evening  the  whole 
family  went  off  to  a  Christmas  party  a  good 
distance  from  home  in  a  terrible  blizzard.  It 
turned  out  to  be  a  longer  drive  than  one  would 
have  thought.  The  horse  ploughed  his  way 
ahead  at  a  walking  pace.  For  several  hours 
she  sat  there  in  the  sleigh  in  the  blinding  snow- 
storm and  thought  of  the  story.  When  they 
arrived  finally,  she  had  thought  out  her  first 
chapter.  It  was  the  one  about  the  Christmas 
night  at  the  smithy. 

What  a  chapter!  It  was  her  first  and  for  many 
years  her  only  one.  It  was  first  written  in  verse, 
for  the  original  plan  was  that  it  should  be  a 
romance  cycle,  like  "Fanrik  Stal's  Sagas."  But 
by  degrees  this  was  changed,  and  for  a  time  the 
idea  was  that  it  should  be  written  as  drama. 
Then  the  Christmas  night  was  worked  over  to 
go  in  as  the  first  act.  But  this  attempt  did  not 
succeed,  either;  at  last  she  decided  to  write  the 
story  as  a  novel.  Then  the  chapter  was  written 
in  prose.  It  grew  enormously  long,  covering 
forty  written  pages.  The  last  time  it  was  re- 
written it  took  up  only  nine. 

After  a  few  more  years  came  a  second  chapter. 
It  was  the  story  of  the  Ball  at  Borg  and  of  the 
wolves  that  hunted  Gosta  Berling  and  Anna 
Stjernhok. 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  267 

In  the  beginning  this  chapter  was  not  written 
with  the  thought  that  it  could  come  into  the 
story,  but  as  a  sort  of  chance  composition  to  be 
read  at  a  small  social  gathering.  The  reading, 
however,  was  postponed,  and  the  novelette  was 
sent  to  Dagny.  After  a  time  the  story  was 
returned  as  unavailable  for  the  magazine.  It 
was  in  reality  not  available  anywhere.  As  yet 
it  was  altogether  lacking  in  artistic  smoothness. 

Meanwhile  the  author  wondered  to  what  pur- 
pose this  unluckily  born  novelette  could  be 
turned.  Should  she  put  it  into  the  story?  To 
be  sure,  it  was  an  adventure  by  itself  —  and 
ended.  It  would  look  odd  among  the  rest, 
which  were  better  connected.  Perhaps  it 
would  n't  be  such  a  bad  idea,  she  thought  then, 
if  all  the  chapters  of  the  story  were  like  this  one 
—  almost  finished  adventures?  This  would  be 
difficult  to  carry  out,  but  it  might  possibly  be 
done.  There  would  doubtless  be  gaps  in  the 
continuity  here  and  there,  but  that  should  give 
to  the  book  great  strength  and  variety. 

Now  two  important  matters  were  settled: 
The  story  was  to  be  a  novel,  and  each  chapter 
should  be  complete  in  itself.  But  nothing  much 
had  been  gained  hereby.  She  who  had  been 
fired  with  the  idea  of  writing  the  story  of  Verm- 
land's  Cavaliers  when  she  was  two-and-twenty, 


268  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

at  this  stage  was  nearing  the  thirties  and  had 
not  been  able  to  write  more  than  two  chapters. 
Where  had  the  years  gone?  She  had  been  grad- 
uated from  the  Teachers'  College  and  for  several 
years  past  had  been  a  teacher  at  Landskrona. 
She  had  become  interested  in  much  and  had  been 
occupied  with  many  things,  but  the  story  was  just 
as  unwritten.  A  mass  of  material  had  certainly 
been  collected,  but  why  was  it  so  hard  for  her 
to  write  it  down?  Why  did  the  inspiration 
never  come  to  her?  Why  did  the  pen  glide  so 
slowly  over  the  paper?  She  certainly  had  her 
dark  moments  at  that  time!  She  began  to  think 
that  she  never  would  finish  her  novel.  She  was 
that  servant  who  buried  his  talent  in  the  ground 
and  never  tried  to  use  it. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  this  occurred  during 
the  eighties,  when  stern  Realism  was  at  its  height. 
She  admired  the  great  masters  of  that  time, 
never  thinking  that  one  could  use  any  other 
style  in  writing  than  the  one  they  employed. 
For  her  own  part,  she  liked  the  Romanticists 
better,  but  Romanticism  was  dead,  and  she  was 
hardly  the  one  to  think  of  reviving  its  form  and 
expression!  Although  her  brain  was  filled  to 
overflowing  with  stories  of  ghosts  and  mad  love, 
of  wondrously  beautiful  women  and  adventure- 
loving  cavaliers,  she  tried  to  write  about  it  in 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  269 

calm,  realistic  prose.  She  was  not  very  clear- 
visioncd.  Another  would  have  seen  that  the 
impossible  was  impossible. 

Once  she  wrote  a  couple  of  chapters  in  another 
style.  One  was  a  scene  from  Svartsjo  church- 
yard; the  other  was  about  the  old  philosopher, 
Uncle  Eberhard,  and  his  infidel  manuscripts. 
She  scribbled  them  mostly  in  fun,  with  many 
ohs  and  ahs  in  the  prose,  which  made  it  almost 
rhythmical.  She  perceived  that  in  this  vein 
she  could  write.  There  was  inspiration  in  this 
—  she  could  feel  it.  But  when  the  two  short 
chapters  were  finished,  she  laid  them  aside. 
They  were  only  written  in  fun.  One  could  not 
write  a  whole  book  in  that  vein. 

But  now  the  story  had  been  waiting  long 
enough.  It  thought,  no  doubt,  as  it  did  at  the 
time  when  it  sent  her  out  in  the  world:  ''Again 
I  must  send  this  bHnded  person  a  great  longing 
which  will  open  her  eyes." 

The  longing  came  over  her  in  this  manner: 
The  homestead  where  she  had  grown  up  was 
sold.  She  journeyed  to  the  home  of  her  child- 
hood to  see  it  once  again  before  strangers  should 
occupy  it. 

The  evening  before  she  left  there,  perhaps 
nevermore  to  see  the  dear  old  place,  she  con- 
cluded in  all  meekness  and  humility  to  write 


270  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

the  book  in  her  own  way  and  according  to  her 
own  poor  abilities.  It  was  not  going  to  be  any 
great  masterwork,  as  she  had  hoped.  It  might 
be  a  book  at  which  people  would  laugh,  but 
anyway  she  would  write  it  —  write  it  for  herself, 
to  save  for  herself  what  she  could  still  save  of 
the  home  —  the  dear  old  stories,  the  sweet 
peace  of  the  care-free  days,  and  the  beautiful 
landscape  with  the  long  lakes  and  the  many- 
hued  blue  hills. 

But  for  her,  who  had  hoped  that  she  might  yet 
learn  to  write  a  book  people  would  care  to  read, 
it  seemed  as  though  she  had  relinquished  the 
very  thing  in  life  she  had  been  most  eager  to 
win.  It  was  the  hardest  sacrifice  she  had  made 
thus  far. 

A  few  weeks  later,  she  was  again  at  her  home 
in  Landskrona,  seated  at  her  writing-desk. 
She  began  writing  —  she  did  n't  know  exactly 
what  it  was  to  be  —  but  she  was  not  going  to 
be  afraid  of  the  strong  words,  the  exclamations, 
the  interrogations,  nor  would  she  be  afraid  to 
give  herself  with  all  her  childishness  and  all  her 
dreams!  After  she  had  come  to  this  decision, 
the  pen  began  to  move  almost  by  itself.  This 
made  her  quite  delirious.  She  was  carried  away 
with  enthusiasm.  Ah,  this  was  writing!  Un- 
familiar thoughts  and  things,  or,  rather,  things 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  271 

she  never  had  surmised  were  stored  away  in  her 
brain,  crowded  down  upon  the  paper.  The 
pages  were  filled  with  a  haste  of  which  she  had 
never  dreamed.  What  had  hitherto  required 
months  —  no,  years  —  to  work  out,  was  now 
accompHshed  in  a  couple  of  hours.  That  even- 
ing she  wrote  the  story  of  the  young  countess' 
tramp  over  the  ice  on  River  Loven,  and  the 
flood  at  Ekeby. 

The  following  afternoon  she  wrote  the  scene 
in  which  the  gouty  ensign,  Rutger  von  Orneclou, 
tries  to  raise  himself  in  bed  to  dance  the  Cachuca, 
and  the  evening  of  the  next  day  appeared  the 
story  of  the  old  MamseU  who  went  ofT  to  visit 
the  parsimonious  Broby  clergyman. 

Now  she  knew  for  certain  that  in  this  style 
she  could  write  the  book;  but  she  was  just  as 
certain  that  no  one  would  have  the  patience  to 
read  it  through. 

However,  not  many  chapters  let  themselves 
be  written  like  this  —  in  one  breath.  Most  of 
them  required  long  and  arduous  labor,  and  there 
were  only  little  snatches  of  time  in  the  after- 
noons which  she  could  devote  to  authorship. 
When  she  had  been  writing  about  half  a  year, 
reckoning  from  the  day  when  she  had  gone 
in  for  romanticism  with  a  vengeance,  about 
a  dozen  chapters   were  written.    At   this   rate 


272  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

the  book  would  be  finished  in  three  or  four 
years. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  this  year,  1890, 
that  Idun  invited  prize  competitors  to  send  in 
short  novelettes  of  about  one  hundred  printed 
pages.  This  was  an  outlet  for  a  story  that  wanted 
to  be  told  and  sent  into  the  world.  It  must 
have  been  the  story  itself  that  prompted  her 
sister  to  suggest  to  her  that  she  make  use  of 
this  opportunity.  Here,  at  last,  was  a  way  of 
finding  out  if  her  story  was  so  hopelessly  bad! 
If  it  received  the  prize,  much  would  be  gained; 
if  it  did  n't,  she  simply  stood  in  exactly  the  same 
position  as  before. 

She  had  nothing  against  the  idea,  but  she  had 
so  Httle  faith  in  herself  that  she  could  n't  come 
to  any  conclusion. 

Finally,  just  eight  days  before  the  time  for 
submitting  manuscripts  had  expired,  she  de- 
cided to  take  from  the  novel  five  chapters  which 
were  sufficiently  well  connected  to  pass  for  a 
novelette,  and  chance  it  with  these.  But  the 
chapters  were  far  from  ready.  Three  of  them 
were  loosely  written,  but  of  the  remaining  two 
there  was  barely  an  outline.  Then  the  whole 
thing  must  be  legibly  copied,  of  course.  To  add 
to  this,  she  was  not  at  home  just  then,  but  was 
visiting  her  sister  and  brother-in-law,  who  still 


THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY  273 

lived  in  Vcrmland.  And  one  who  has  come  to 
visit  with  dear  friends  for  a  short  time  cannot 
spend  the  days  at  a  writing-desk.  She  wrote 
therefore  at  night,  sitting  up  the  whole  week 
until  four  in  the  mornings. 

Finally  there  were  only  twenty-four  hours  of 
the  precious  time  left,  and  there  were  still  twenty 
pages  to  be  written. 

On  this  the  last  day  they  were  invited  out. 
The  whole  family  were  going  on  a  little  journey 
to  be  gone  for  the  night.  Naturally,  she  had  to 
accompany  the  rest.  When  the  party  was  over 
and  the  guests  dispersed,  she  sat  up  all  night 
writing  in  the  strange  place. 

At  times  she  felt  very  queer.  The  place  where 
she  was  visiting  was  the  very  estate  on  which 
the  wicked  Sintram  had  lived.  Fate,  in  a  singu- 
lar way,  had  brought  her  there  on  the  very  night 
when  she  must  write  about  him  who  sat  in  the 
rocker  and  rocked. 

Now  and  then  she  looked  up  from  her  work 
and  listened  in  the  direction  of  the  drawing- 
room  for  the  possible  sound  of  a  pair  of  rockers 
in  motion.  But  nothing  was  heard.  When  the 
clock  struck  six  the  next  morning,  the  five 
chapters  were  finished. 

Along  in  the  forenoon  they  travelled  home  on 
a  little  freight  steamer.    There  her  sister  did  up 

18 


274  THE  STORY  GF  A  STORY 

the  parcel,  sealed  it  with  sealing-wax,  which  had 
been  brought  from  home  for  this  purpose,  wrote 
the  address,  and  sent  off  the  novelette. 

This  happened  on  one  of  the  last  days  in  July. 
Toward  the  end  of  August  Idun  contained 
a  notice  to  the  effect  that  something  over 
twenty  manuscripts  had  been  received  by 
the  editors,  but  that  one  or  two  among  them 
were  so  confusedly  written  they  could  not  be 
counted  in. 

Then  she  gave  up  waiting  for  results.  She 
knew,  of  course,  which  novelette  was  so  con- 
fusedly written  that  it  could  not  be  counted  in. 

One  afternoon  in  November  she  received  a 
curious  telegram.  It  contained  simply  the 
words  "Hearty  Congratulations,"  and  was 
signed  by  three  of  her  college  classmates. 

For  her  it  was  a  terribly  long  wait  until  dinner- 
time of  the  following  day,  when  the  Stockholm 
papers  were  distributed.  When  the  paper  was 
in  her  hands,  she  had  to  search  long  without 
finding  anything.  Finally,  on  the  last  page  she 
found  a  little  notice  in  fine  print  which  told  that 
the  prize  had  been  awarded  to  her. 

To  another  it  might  not  have  meant  so  much, 
perhaps,  but  for  her  it  meant  that  she  could  de- 
vote herself  to  the  calling  which  all  her  life  she 
had  longed  to  follow. 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  275 

There  is  but  little  to  add  to  this:  The  story 
that  wanted  to  be  told  and  sent  out  in  the 
world  was  now  fairly  near  its  destination. 
Now  it  was  to  be  written,  at  least,  even  though 
it  might  take  a  few  years  more  before  it  was 
finished. 

She  who  was  writing  it  had  gone  up  to  Stock- 
holm around  Christmas  time,  after  she  had  re- 
ceived the  prize. 

The  editor  of  Idim  volunteered  to  print  the 
book  as  soon  as  it  was  finished. 

If  she  could  ever  find  time  to  write  it! 

The  evening  before  she  was  to  return  to 
Landskrona,  she  spent  with  her  loyal  friend, 
Baroness  Adlersparre,'  to  whom  she  read  a  few 
chapters  aloud. 

"Esselde"  listened,  as  only  she  could  listen, 
and  she  became  interested.  After  the  reading 
she  sat  silently  and  pondered.  "How  long  will 
it  be  before  all  of  it  is  ready?"  she  asked 
finally. 

"Three  or  four  years." 

Then  they  parted. 

The  next  morning,  two  hours  before  she 
was  to  leave  Stockholm,  a  message  came  from 


'  Baroness  Adlersparre  —  pen  name,  Esselde  —  was  a  noted 
Swedish  writer,  publisher,  and  philanthropist,  and  a  contem- 
porary of  Fredrika  Bremer. 


276  THE  STORY  OF  A  STORY 

Esselde  bidding  her  come  to  her  before  the 
departure. 

The  old  Baroness  was  in  her  most  positive 
and  determined  mood.  "Now  you  must  take 
a  leave  of  absence  for  a  year  and  finish  the  book. 
I  shall  procure  the  money." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  girl  was  on  her  way 
to  the  Principal  of  the  Teachers'  College  to  ask 
her  assistance  in  securing  a  substitute. 

At  one  o'clock  she  was  happily  seated  in  the 
railway  carriage.  But  now  she  was  going  no 
farther  than  Sormland,  where  she  had  good 
friends  who  lived  in  a  charming  villa. 

And  so  they  —  Otto  Gumaelius  and  his 
wife  —  gave  her  the  freedom  of  their  home 
—  freedom  to  work,  and  peace,  and  the  best 
of  care  for  nearly  a  year,  until  the  book  was 
finished. 

Now,  at  last,  she  could  write  from  morning 
tiU  night.  It  was  the  happiest  time  of  her 
Ufe. 

But  when  the  story  was  finished  at  the  close 
of  the  summer,  it  looked  queer.  It  was  wild  and 
disordered,  and  the  connecting  threads  were  so 
loose  that  all  the  parts  seemed  bent  upon  fol- 
lowing their  old  incHnation  to  wander  off,  each 
in  its  own  way. 

It  never  became  what  it  should  have  been. 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STORY  277 

Its  misfortune  was  that  it  had  been  compelled 
to  wait  so  long  to  be  told.  If  it  was  not  properly 
disciplined  and  restrained,  it  was  mostly  because 
the  author  was  so  overjoyed  in  the  thought  that 
at  last  she  had  been  privileged  to  write  it. 


JUL  1  8  1979 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


GAVLORD 


PRINTED  IN  U    S   A. 


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